


Twelfth of Never

by h34rt1lly (LILYisatig3r)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Companions, Companions Quest Line, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dark Brotherhood Quest Line, Dragonborn NPC - Freeform, F/M, Main Quest Line, NPC as the Dragonborn, Vilkas Dragonborn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 141,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LILYisatig3r/pseuds/h34rt1lly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assassin of the Dark Brotherhood is contracted to kill a Companion. When she arrives to get the job done, she finds that she cannot bring herself to make the final blow. Good thing too, since her target ends up being the Dragonborn. </p><p>M for language, violence and sexual themes. Vilkas (Dragonborn) x OC. Main quest line, slight DB quest line, slight Companions quest line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisara receives the contract that will end up changing her life, as well as Skyrim's fate.

The dying fire in the corner crackled sporadically, interrupting the silence in the room. More often than not, the Sanctuary was frigid and trying to avoid getting frostbite without a fire going at all times was nearly impossible.

Lisara Garnesier sat upright in front of the flames, the natural highlights in her auburn hair reflecting in the light. Her posture was rigid as she rested in the simple wooden chair in front of the fireplace. Though the heat kept her comfortable, there was still a chill that hung over her, permeating her body down to her bones that she could never seem to get rid of. Part of that stemmed from the eternal bleak fog that rolled throughout the Sanctuary's interior, but Lisara knew that wasn't entirely the reason. No, the cold that haunted her day in and day out came from the inside, from within herself.

Events in her life had taught her to keep her distance from others, shaping her into the aloof individual that she was today. When one got attached to someone, experience had shown her that they would end up either dead or leaving her behind. Her family had been the perfect example of that.

Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving her father and her older brother to care for her. What did a soldier and a young boy know about raising children, though? In Lisara's father's case, absolutely nothing. His role in the Imperial Legion kept him away from his children for months at a time. When he  _was_ home, he drank himself into a stupor and Lisara had learned all too soon that she was safer avoiding any contact with him.

The day after her brother's sixteenth birthday, when she was only fourteen, she woke to find him gone. His room had been emptied of all his possessions and a note rested on his pillow, addressed to her.

' _I'm sorry_ ',was the only proof that he had ever been there.

After her brother's abandonment, her father became increasingly violent. When Lisara turned seventeen, she came to the conclusion that she could no longer put up with his abuse. So one night, when the alcohol that he consumed like his life depended on it sent him into the sweet embrace of a deep slumber, Lisara grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter and buried it in his chest, ensuring that he would never leave the cradle of darkness.

His blood had pooled around him, spreading across the pale linen like the beautiful crimson petals of her favorite flower. As she sat there, watching the life fade from his eyes, she felt no remorse, no guilt, no regret. She simply felt...free.

The next morning, a piece of parchment was on her doorstep and when she opened it, the ominous symbol of the Dark Brotherhood, a hand planted firmly on the paper in ink that looked suspiciously like blood, greeted her. The words ' _We know_ ' were written underneath.

That day, without hesitation, she joined their ranks.

Even though she'd been with them for six years, she couldn't say that any of the members were truly her friends, nor her family. Those were things she never cared to have again, because she knew firsthand that the bonds people claimed were unbreakable, were in fact the opposite. Besides, if she were to get attached to any of them, they'd probably die while attempting to fulfill a contract. Perhaps it was pessimistic to think that way, but Lisara preferred to consider herself a realist.

Now, her experience with the Brotherhood showed her that family or not, friend or foe, people still wished for the death of others. She was more than happy to oblige their wishes without a hint of regret and no intention to seek penance for her sins. Admitting that she  _had_  sinned would be a display of emotion, of shame.

Emotions were for the weak, and weakness did not belong in the Dark Brotherhood.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, mimicking the motion with her legs, and thought about nothing in particular as she gazed at the flickering flames in the fire grate, her foot moving up and down at a languid pace.

There were some in the Brotherhood that lingered on their contracts, long after they'd been fulfilled. Whether it was because of remorse or whether they were going over their actions, seeing where they could've done differently, she couldn't say. Either way, Lisara was not one of those. She killed and never thought of her victims again. Because of her sense of detachment, she rarely sat and gazed at anything for far too long. That was a situation where most people's thoughts would wander, eventually coming to rest upon those that had died by their hand. Since Lisara did not look upon the past, she ended up thinking of...nothing.

Which was both depressing and liberating.

As a deep sigh left her, a knock sounded at her door and she turned to glance over her shoulder.

"Come in," she beckoned, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

The door opened with a creak and Lisara could hear someone shuffle into the room. By the short distance between each step, as well as the sound of suede shoes scuffing on the stone floor, she surmised that it was Babette who had entered.

"Sister," Lisara greeted in a monotone voice, as she turned back to look into the flames again. Babette sidled up to Lisara and followed her gaze into the fire, raising a slender eyebrow at Lisara's listlessness.

"Yes, hello indeed, Sister. What are you doing?" the vampiress questioned, in the high pitched, innocent voice of a ten year old child.

Appearance wise, Babette  _was_  indeed a young girl. However, those in the Brotherhood knew otherwise. Babette had been bitten by a vampire when she was ten and as a result, was now over three hundred years old. She often used her childlike appearance to gain the advantage over her victims, and Lisara both applauded and abhorred the other assassin's ruthless approach.

She'd seen the vampire's skills up close on her first contract. Back then, she'd still been wide-eyed and naive, still thought that the Brotherhood killed with dignity and poise. No, whatever it took to get the job done, Astrid expected you to do. The Tenets of days past had long since been shelved.

On her first contract, she'd been assigned to rid the world of Beitild, a mine owner in Dawnstar. Babette had accompanied her to show her the ropes and to judge her skills so she could report back to Astrid on how their new sister held up when the final blow was delivered.

* * *

 

_The chill of Dawnstar's northern wind blew past, causing Lisara to tuck her chin into her cowl, hiding from the cold. Babette, as a vampire, was unaffected by the frigid gale that relentlessly attacked them. Still, she wore a cloak to remain discreet-a ten year old girl wouldn't normally travel in these conditions, after all._

_Their horses whinnied as they dismounted, tying their respective reins to the stable's post. They wandered into town, heading for Windspeak Inn on the far end of the walkway._

What an appropriate name, _thought Lisara. This wind up here was far worse than Falkreath._

_As they neared the wooden door that marked the entrance to the Inn, Babette finally spoke. "You know why we're heading for the Inn, right Sister?"_

" _Because they are the best place to gather information, even if you don't speak to anyone."_

" _Exactly," the girl smiled, the points of her fangs visible just under her top lip._

_Lisara shivered at the sight. She'd never met a single vampire before Babette and the girl's eternal youth disturbed her. Well, and her penchant for blood and death but she supposed that was to be expected, what with her 'condition' and her choice of trade._

_They pushed through the door and entered the main hall. Lisara sighed at the comforting warmth that enveloped her and wished they could just stay there for the remainder of their time in Dawnstar. Why the city had such a positive and beautiful name was beyond her. The reality was vastly different._

_A table next to the door was available and the girls sank down onto its benches, waving the proprietor off when she began to approach them. They were there to listen. The ambient conversations of the other patrons surrounded them and Babette signaled to Lisara to begin paying attention for any mention of Beitild or the mine._

_._

_._

" _This bread is horribly stale. Innkeep! Do you have anything that isn't absolute garbage?!"_

_._

_._

" _Oh it's so cold outside. Why don't we move somewhere warmer, darling? Riften, perhaps?"_

" _Riften?! Woman, you must be insane. There are only thieves and rats in Riften!"_

_._

_._

" _Working at the mine is absolutely horrible. I swear to Talos that woman is trying to work us to our deaths."_

" _Mmm, I'll drink to that. She's a beast, that one."_

" _I don't understand why she works us so hard, when she herself never picks up an axe to help. She just sits there, on her arse, watching us suffer!"_

" _She's probably sitting at home right now, counting the septims_ we _earned her."_

_._

_._

_Lisara's eyes shifted over to meet Babette's and she raised her eyebrows once at the girl. Babette nodded and they rose from the bench, drifting over to the men who'd mentioned the mine._

" _Excuse me," Babette greeted, her voice higher than usual._

" _Oh, a little girl. Whatever are you doing here, pretty one?" the man who'd first complained about the mine responded._

" _We just moved here and my sister is having a hard time finding work," Babette said as she gestured over her shoulder at Lisara. "We overheard you talking about the mine and wondered if you could point us in the direction of the owner? Perhaps she'd be willing to hire my sister."_

" _Oh lass-" the man replied as his eyes traveled from Babette to Lisara. "-I wouldn't recommend that. I understand wanting hard earned septims, but Beitild is not one you would...last...under."_

" _We have no choice, I'm afraid. My sister has not eaten in days and we are beginning to get desperate," Lisara implored._

_The man sighed as he glanced over to the other two he was sitting with. When they nodded with sad expressions on their faces, he turned back to the girls. "Very well. Beitild lives on the edge of the city, right next to the mine. You can't miss her home. There's a forge right in the front."_

" _Thank you so much sir!" Babette exclaimed as she grasped Lisara's hand tightly in her own, and dragged her back out into the wintry night._

_They traipsed through the city, heading for the opposite end of the bay, as the man had instructed. Babette glanced up at Lisara and said, "I was impressed by your acting back there, Sister. Not bad for your first time."_

" _It wasn't my first time. I've had to lie through my teeth plenty."_

" _Hmm."_

_Beitild's house could be seen in the distance, the forge still glowing orange with recent use. When they were nearly at the front door, they both fell into a crouch and Babette snuck up to one of the front windows, peering up and over the sill into the interior._

" _I see her. She's in her bedroom, but she's still awake," the girl whispered._

_Lisara crept up behind the vampire and pointed at the door. "We'll have to pick the lock."_

_Babette waved her hand at Lisara in dismissal as she replied, "That's no problem. I'll take care of the lock. You'll be going in to fulfill the contract as soon as she's asleep. "_

_An hour passed before Babette gave the all-clear and moved in front of the door, glancing over her shoulder to check for guards. With tiny fingers that moved with precision, she quickly picked the lock and pushed the door open with a slight creak. The duo cringed, but when the sound faded into nothing, Babette waved Lisara over to the open doorway._

" _May the Night Mother guide your blade, Sister," Babette encouraged, a sinister smile twisting her otherwise angelic features._

_Lisara slinked into the living room, the moon's beams casting a long shadow far beyond where she stood. Beitild had extinguished the candles, so Lisara had to move at a slow pace, relying entirely on her sense of touch and hearing. She remained crouched with one foot extended in front of her body and the other tucked underneath her, to support her weight. Her arms were outstretched so that she could trail her finger along the surfaces of the various objects she passed, to ensure that her bearings were correct and that she didn't crash into anything._

_Finally, her outstretched foot tapped against a doorframe and she sidled up to the wall, peering around the corner. She could hear Beitild's soft, even breathing from the hall, and she knew she'd reached the bedroom._

_Like a cat, she crept into the room, her steps silent and sure. Luckily, Beitild's bedroom had a single window with no curtains and the pale rays of the moon filtered in, illuminating the sleeping woman in her bed perfectly._

_Lisara straightened when she reached the bed and paused, looming over the other woman as she watched her in her last moment of serenity. She slowly rolled Beitild over with gentle hands so that the woman lay on her back. After she was sure that the woman wouldn't wake, Lisara unsheathed her dagger, sharpened just yesterday for this very task, and held it to Beitild's throat, hesitating at the last second._

_Babette's voice drifted through Lisara's mind then, "May the Night Mother guide your blade…"_

_With one quick swipe, Lisara slit Beitild's throat. The blonde woman's eyes shot open as she gurgled on her own blood, trying to keep her last breath from escaping. The effort was futile however, for after a short minute, the light of life left her eyes and Lisara breathed a sigh of relief._

_She stood there and watched the crimson rivulets flow from Beitild's throat to pool around her head in a disturbing halo. Lisara couldn't help but think back on the first time she'd seen such an image, when she stabbed her father in the heart._

_Perhaps this really_ is _my calling, she thought._

_After wiping her blade off on Beitild's sheets, she turned and walked out of the house, meeting Babette's gaze when she stepped back out into the night._

" _It is done," Lisara stated. She expected to feel elated at the success of her first kill-well, first contracted kill. At the very least, she should feel satisfaction for a job well done. Instead, she merely felt...emptiness. No joy, no remorse coursed through her. Just an endless void of emotion._

_Babette smiled again, less sinister this time and more akin to satisfaction. In a voice that sounded as if she meant it more now than she ever had in the past, the girl said, "Then let us go home, Sister."_

* * *

 

Lisara shook her head, breaking herself out of her reverie, her gaze once again fixated on the amber flames. This is why she never reflected on the past. It brought emotions back to the surface that she didn't wish to recall. Her fingers tightened around her biceps as she replied, "Nothing. Thinking."

"You don't seem to think often," Babette observed.

A soft snort left Lisara at Babette's lack of tact. Because she looked like a child, she often thought that she had free reign to act like one as well. Babette rarely filtered her responses and simply spoke on impulse. "Thank you for that," Lisara said in a wry tone.

"I just meant that I don't see you stare off into space much. Anyway, Astrid wants to speak to you."

"Astrid? Does she have a contract for me?" Lisara asked as she turned in her chair to face the smaller girl.

"I don't know. I didn't ask. I happened to be passing by and she asked me to come and get you. It's like she thinks I'm a messenger or something," Babette complained as she rolled her eyes, tapping her foot impatiently against the stone floor.

Lisara chuckled under her breath as she rose from the chair, her arms dropping to her sides. "Is she in her room?"

The small vampire hummed in affirmation as she walked out, tossing a halfhearted wave back at Lisara. The brunette shook her head at the girl's nonchalance before she too stepped out into the hallway.

A long forgotten and abandoned Nordic temple had fallen into disrepair, and the ruins were where the Brotherhood made their home. Really, the hallway was more of a tunnel and it was because of the location that that was the case. A series of pathways connected the individual rooms within the Sanctuary to one another, and Astrid's room was located near the front entrance. Lisara headed that way now, the chill of the stone floor seeping through her ebony and crimson leather boots. Though all members of the Brotherhood excelled at stealth, the charm on their boots amplified what was already second nature to them, gifting them with complete silence as they moved. As such, Lisara's steps would not be audible to anyone else outside of the Brotherhood, unless that individual had charms or advantages of their own.

Lit torches lined the path, causing Lisara's shadow to jump erratically across the stone surfaces. The walls of the tunnel were overgrown with algae, and the scent of the spongy matter tickled at Lisara's nose. She never had been a fan of the smells of nature. As she made her way down the hall, rats weaved between her legs, scurrying over her feet and squeaking as they ran along.

A few minutes later, Lisara rounded the corner towards the entrance and spotted Astrid, who was bent over her worktable. Their leader's ashy blonde hair was usually braided and tied back from her face, but she must have been poring over the paperwork for some time, as some strands had escaped their tight confines to drape in front of the Nord's face. Her shrouded armor matched the set that Lisara currently wore.

When Lisara approached the other woman, Astrid glanced up and smiled at her as she straightened, her hands still propped up on the wooden surface.

"Babette said you wanted to see me?" Lisara asked when she came to a halt in front of the table, crossing her arms over her chest again.

Every time she did so, someone commented on how people who stood so defensively were unsure of themselves, self-conscious. Lisara was far from that. She was simply trying to keep herself warm in this Sithis-forsaken environment she was always in. Then again, perhaps it was  _because_  of Sithis that the cave was so damn cold.

"I did. I have a contract for you," Astrid explained as she sorted through the pile of papers in front of her, pulling one out from the middle.

The blonde handed it to Lisara, who scanned over the letters scribbled in black ink that ran across the vellum paper. Her eyebrows lowered over her hazel eyes, which were narrowed at the words she read.

"A Companion?" she asked, her words saturated with doubt.

Astrid nodded and replied, "Quite the impressive man, or so I hear."

"Why would anyone wish for a  _Companion_  to meet an untimely death? They're normally well liked."

"Mm. Makes you wonder, doesn't it? But we're not here to question. We're just here to get the job done. Do you accept?"

Lisara lifted the paper again and quickly re-read the specifics. When she saw the amount of the reward at the bottom, her eyebrows shot up and she glanced back at Astrid, who smiled knowingly. A normal reward for a contract was around three hundred septims. The reward for this particular Companion's death, was a thousand. Either the person who made the request believed that the Companion was so hard to kill, that it warranted extra incentive, or the man named 'Vilkas' was truly a horrible person.

Not that Lisara was one to judge.

The prospect of another kill-it had been some time since her last-sent excitement coursing through her, and she itched to wrap her fingers around the handle of her blade again. Her expression was devoid of remorse at the thought of ending an innocent's life, and a slow grin spread across her face, morphing her normally soft, amiable features into something more harsh and frightening. The light of the candles along the wall shone onto Lisara's eyes. Though they were a warm shade of light brown, with veins of gold and green running through her irises, somehow they appeared cold and unfeeling.

In an eerie, quiet voice that would have sent a normal woman running, Lisara spoke.

"I accept."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank Nightlain enough for beta-reading this story as well as inspiring me to write it. Under her care, this chapter went from decent to something I'm proud to post. I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this first chapter. Would love to hear your thoughts! :3 
> 
> Until next time.


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisara arrives in Whiterun and 'joins' the Companions.

Just outside of Whiterun's city limits, Lisara sat cross-legged atop her deer-skin bedroll. The illumination from the dying campfire painted dark shades of orange and yellow on her skin, and the slight heat was comforting in the cooler temperatures of the night. If she breathed in deeply enough, the smoky scent of the dwindling fire intermingled with the earthy scent of the field around her. It soothed her, much to her surprise. She'd never been overly fond of nature but there was something about the rawness of Skyrim's environment that appealed to her. This was the world as the Gods had deemed it and whatever the reason may be, she was happy to be where she was at the moment.

She'd left the Sanctuary early that morning and it had taken her nearly the entire day to reach the plains just outside of Whiterun. People tended to be less mistrustful when the sun was shining so she'd chosen to make camp for the night, then ride up to the front gate the next morning. Of course, she  _was_  there for ill purposes, but the job would go easier if the guards weren't immediately suspicious of her.

It was past sunset already and part of her nightly ritual before she went to sleep was to meditate on her actions from the day. As her mind wandered, her arms were balanced on her thighs, palms facing upwards and her pointer finger and thumb formed a circle. She sat there, unmoving and lost in her thoughts for nearly an hour.

Once she was finished with her routine, she let out a deep, even sigh and uncurled from her position. Leaning over, she scooped dirt onto the flames and put the fire out, subsequently climbing into her bedroll and lifting the cover over herself. She shifted onto her side after folding her cloak into a makeshift pillow, placing her dagger securely underneath. As per her routine, she focused on relaxing each individual muscle in her body and not long after, the darkness of sleep overtook her. However, her rest did not go undisturbed.

Her imagination had been running wild all day while she'd been on the road. Every possible scenario of how she could fulfill her contract had wandered through her mind: from slitting his throat, which was by far her favorite method of ending another's life—the action had always seemed so intimate to her; to poisoning him, which was incredibly easy to pull off; to perhaps making it look like an accident. The reactions of those who were in the vicinity when the individual died were her favorite. People were amusing when frightened.

Visuals of his eyes—even though Lisara had no idea what he looked like—turning glassy and losing their glow, becoming empty, lifeless, flitted through her thoughts. It was that sight that excited her the most. It was true confirmation that she'd done her job and carried out the Night Mother's wishes. The part of the contract that most intrigued Lisara though, was the fact that her target was a Companion. She'd never killed a Companion. Whoever he was…even just his name intrigued her. It sounded strong, sure, very much a Nord. He would make quite the trophy, this  _Vilkas_.

Halfway through the night, her dreams shifted from plotting Vilkas' early demise to a reflection of her past. Though she actively avoided thinking of her conquests when she was awake, her subconscious seemed to always have other plans.

* * *

_She was back at Beitild's house with Babette standing by the front door, waving her in, her fangs peeking out from underneath her small, childish lips._

_Silently, both in her memories and in this dream sequence, she made her way through the dark house. In her memory, she'd been crouching, reaching out tentatively for surfaces she could crash into that would reveal her location. In her dream, she floated through the abode as if she had lived there herself—though her her posture was stiff, her hands hanging by her sides._

_When she drifted into the room where Beitild slept she saw her past self, crouching over the other woman's still body, her dagger poised at her throat, glinting in the moonlight. Though she knew how this particular situation ended, her dream self reached out, as if to stop her past self from doing what she knew had to be done._

" _No, wait!" she cried out, her voice thin and airy. It was useless however, as she watched the sharpened blade slide across the thin flesh of Beitild's throat, a trail of crimson following the tip._

_Her past self turned then, her eyes crazed with bloodlust, and met her dream self's eyes. A smile spread across her past self's face, warping her expression from the emptiness Lisara knew she'd originally felt in that moment, to something more akin to a sort of twisted glee, a morbid pleasure at ending another's life. A flash of fear spiked through her at seeing her own face so inhuman, so unnatural..._

* * *

"No!" Lisara gasped as she shot straight up in her bedroll.

A light but bleak breeze blew past, causing her to shiver violently. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, the moisture beading on her brow and pooling in the groove of skin on the back of her neck. Her fingers were clenched, her fists resting in her lap. Though she tried to calm her racing heart, her chest continued to rise and fall with the rapid breaths she took.

Lisara raised her hands and buried her face in them as she felt the world closing in on her, alone in the plains surrounding Whiterun. These... _memories_  haunted her every single night and no matter how well she avoided her past during her waking hours, she could not escape her dreams.

After what felt like eons, her breathing slowed and she wiped the salty wetness from her cheeks—she refused to acknowledge that she'd been crying. Glancing up to the east, she saw the hint of brightness peeking up over the mountain range just beyond Eastmarch. The rays of light tinged the sky with gold which faded into a soft periwinkle, before darkening to a cobalt closer to the west. Sunrise was her favorite time of day for this exact reason. The Gods were merciful in the fact that they gifted the lowly forms of life on Tamriel with stunning moments of beauty like this one.

With a sigh, she stood and rolled up her bedroll, tying it to Shadowmere's saddle. The thought of bathing passed through her mind briefly before she dismissed it and shrugged, jumping up and swinging her leg over the stallion's body. There would be plenty of time for luxury later. For now, she had an appointment with a certain Companion.

Pulling on the reins, she swung Shadowmere around and nudged his side with her thigh, prompting him to gallop off to the north. Small houses with thatched roofs began to spring up on the plains the closer she got to the city. Eventually, Shadowmere's hooves resounded on wood as they passed over a small stream, entering the outpost just before the incline that led to the gates of Whiterun.

She slowed him to a trot and they weaved between members of the guard who milled about, who nodded to her as she passed. They rose up towards the gate and when she finally arrived, one of the guards who flanked the entrance approached her with his hand held out, indicating that she should stop.

When she acquiesced to his silent request, he said, "I'm very sorry ma'am, but you'll have to dismount here and walk on foot. We will return your steed to the stables for safe keeping."

She sighed under her breath at the inconvenience before dismounting and untying her pack and her bedroll from the saddle, swinging them over her shoulder. After an affectionate goodbye pat to Shadowmere's snout, she handed the reins to the guard and his counterpart pushed open the door for her. The entrance gate was massive and she'd wondered how they'd let her in when she'd ridden up the incline, but now that she could see that a smaller entrance had been inlaid into the wood, she rolled her eyes at herself.

_Of course they're not going to open the gate every time someone arrives, you nitwit_ , she chided herself. Though she'd lived in Skyrim for years, she'd never been able to completely shake the naivety that had followed her from High Rock.

Lisara passed through the open door, her boots scuffling on the cobblestone streets. She had been planning on trying to blend in as much as possible but that thought disappeared from her mind as she raised her head and gazed around the city, marveling at how clean the streets were and the intricate architecture of the homes. Though the residences she'd passed in the plains outside the city had thatched roofs, these most certainly did not. The wooden eaves had detailed patterns and images carved into them and the roofs were lined with scalloped tiles in varying shades of nature, from a mossy green to a warm terracotta brown. They towered above her; some were two or three stories tall.

She clamped her mouth shut when she realized that she'd been gaping like a fish. Embarrassed at her reaction, she shifted her pack and swiftly walked down the main street towards what appeared to be a marketplace, off on the other end of town. Markets were the perfect place to gather information, as merchants were more often than not willing to gossip about all the inner workings of their fine cities. Of course, inns were a fount of information as well but she had no intention of staying there this time around.

Just ahead of her before the marketplace sat a massive white tree, its branches filled with coral and blush colored leaves. She passed underneath its wide-reaching arms, her head tilted back so she could look towards the very top of its height. It was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. Granted, she knew living in a cavern under the surface didn't warrant breathtaking sights like these but if it weren't for her profession, she thought she might have enjoyed living in Whiterun.

After crossing a small stone bridge that arched over an easy flowing creek, she climbed the small incline that led to the marketplace. Townsfolk surrounded the fountain at its center, chatting with each other about aimless topics, swept up in the peace and quiet they were lucky enough to enjoy.

A food stand, with various fruits and vegetables as its wares, stood off to Lisara's left and it was there that she wandered now. The woman who stood beside the stand was not a Nord, which surprised Lisara; her height was considerably shorter than most of the other women that were about and her medium length tresses were a muted brown, not blonde. Her ochre eyes were shrewd but not unkind and as Lisara approached, the other woman met her gaze when she realized that Lisara was a potential customer.

"Hello! Can I interest you in any of my fine produce?" the woman greeted.

"No, thank you. I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the Companions?" Lisara inquired.

Recognition lit up the woman's eyes and she leaned against the stand when she replied. "Ah, seeking to join their ranks? Jorrvaskr is just up this staircase, in the Wind District. You can't miss it—biggest building up there."

"Thank you," Lisara said before she ambled past the woman and headed up the stone steps that led out of the marketplace.

When she reached the next landing, she glanced to her left and didn't see any buildings that particularly stood out. Her gaze swung to the right next and her eyes widened when she noticed the large hall that stood just above another flight of steps. The merchant hadn't been lying when she'd said that it would be hard to miss. The building was the length of nearly two or three houses and had what appeared to be an upside down ship's hull for a roof.

"What in all of Tamriel...Nords are bizarre," she muttered under her breath.

Quickly scaling the steps in front of her, she huffed when she realized that there was another small flight that led up to the hall's enormous main doors.  _It's no wonder Nords have such muscular legs. There are stairs_ everywhere _,_  she thought.

_Finally_ , she stood just in front of the doors that marked the entrance to the hall. She pressed her hand against them, noticing in passing the golden patterns that traced across their wooden surfaces, and pushed one open, causing it to creak loudly in protest.

The sounds of a crackling fire paired with raucous laughter reached her ears when she stepped into the hall. There were multiple people seated at a long wooden table in the center of the recessed area, obviously sharing a rather joyful meal together. The wooden door slammed shut behind her and everyone turned around to see who had walked into their midst.

No one said a word and Lisara could swear one could hear a pin drop in the thick silence that filled the room. Fed up with the less than warm welcome, she cleared her throat in annoyance and that prompted a mountain of a man to rise from the table, his steps thudding against the stone floor as he traipsed over to her.

The closer he got, the more Lisara leaned away from his intimidating presence. He came to a stop just in front of her, towering over her slight frame and a wide smile spread across his face. In a booming, rich voice, he yelled, "Welcome to Jorrvaskr, friend! I'm Farkas! What can we do for ya?"

"I uh, I'd like to join the Companions," Lisara explained in a tiny voice. When she realized how feeble she sounded, she nearly kicked herself.

"Great! We always love to have good, strong people join us! But uh...can you even fight? You're so tiny, I'm not sure I believe that you could lift a sword!" he guffawed.

Lisara's eyes narrowed and the side of her nose tweaked. "I can handle myself just fine."

"Even better then! Kodlak's the one you wanna talk to about joining. He's downstairs at the end of the hall! Nice to meet you...er…" Farkas trailed off.

"Lisara," she replied as she began to walk away from him.

"Pretty name. Nice to meet you Lisara! As a Companion, we consider each other as family so I hope I get to call you shield-sister soon!" Farkas bellowed before waving and returning to the table.

The conversation picked back up as if he'd never spoken to her and slowly, she turned around and continued walking towards the staircase.  _Family, huh? I suppose this is just another group of people I have to deal with calling me that._

As she descended, the light from the main area faded, causing her steps to slow as she neared the bottom. A small, closed door was in front of her and she pushed it open hesitantly, peeking her head around the edge. It looked like she was now in some sort of living quarters; there were wooden tables and separate sitting areas strewn about down the long hallway. Other closed doors were periodically placed along the wall and she assumed they led to private bedrooms.

Lisara walked into the room and turned to her right, passing by a Dunmer who nodded politely at her as she wandered by. Returning the gesture, she made her way to the opposite end, where she could hear two men speaking about something she didn't quite understand. One of the men had a voice that sounded weathered by age. It was rough, and the tone he used implied that he was in a position of authority, in comparison to the other man.

The other voice though, the one belonging to the younger individual...it was a lovely baritone. His words were accented with the lilting cadence that many Nords had though at the moment, his words were tinged with irritation. He seemed to be arguing with the older gentleman—no, perhaps only making a point.

When Lisara was nearly to the room at the end of the hall, she purposefully stomped so that the enchantment on her boots wouldn't mask the sound of her steps. When the men heard her approaching, they ceased their conversation and turned to look at the door.

The man on the right was likely the owner of the raspy voice, for his hair was as white as the snow atop the Throat of the World. His eyes were keen and his gaze traced her from head to toe, gauging her perceptively. Though he was obviously older in age, time had not weathered his strength. Even from the doorway, Lisara could see that his muscles strained the leather wrappings around his biceps.

On the other side of the table the two men were sitting at, was the owner of the  _other_  voice—the warmer, velvety, deep voice. His expression was gruff, his full lips turned down in a scowl, masked the slightest bit by his chestnut stubble. His arms were crossed over his chest and though his build was slighter than the older man, he was nowhere near lesser toned.

What stopped Lisara in her tracks though were his crystalline eyes—they were lighter than any that she'd ever seen; the palest blue that could only be likened to ice. The wine-colored war paint that lined his eyes made them appear even brighter and she found that she couldn't look away. A faint niggling at the back of her mind made her question if she'd ever met this man before, as he looked vaguely familiar.

When her inspection of his appearance crossed over into impolite territory, his scowl intensified and he prompted, "Well? What do you want?"

Lisara shook her head in apology as the white-haired man reprimanded the brunet man. "Come now, Vilkas. That's no way to greet a guest in Jorrvaskr. How may we help you, lass?"

That's  _Vilkas?_  she marveled.  _A great trophy indeed._

"I spoke to Farkas upstairs and he told me to speak to Kodlak? I wish to join the Companions," she explained.

"Aye, I am Kodlak," the older man clarified. "Yes, perhaps. You have a certain strength of spirit," he mused.

At that, Vilkas turned towards Kodlak, his eyes wide in surprise. "Master, you're not actually thinking of letting this... _girl_  join, are you?"

The corner of Kodlak's mouth twitched in amusement. "I shouldn't have to remind you Vilkas that we also have Aela, Njada and Ria in our ranks, hm? Besides, we have plenty of empty beds in Jorrvaskr."

"That is different.  _They_  are warriors. This runt has likely never held a blade in her life," Vilkas rebutted.

Lisara scoffed at Vilkas' inaccurate assessment of her. "Just because I'm not freakishly tall like you Nords doesn't mean I cannot hold my own in battle."

Kodlak chuckled. "She has fire. I like that. Vilkas, why don't you take her out to the yard and test her mettle then? See how she does for herself."

Vilkas, clearly displeased with his new task, grunted in response and from between clenched teeth said, "Aye."

He rose then and though he was just a touch shorter than Farkas, he was still taller than Lisara by at least over half a foot. When he brushed past her, he grazed her shoulder and her foot shot out, catching herself as she stumbled. Miffed, she let out a grunt as well, and trailed after his retreating form as she followed him back through the living hall, up the stairs, and through the doors opposite the ones she'd entered from.

They were now in the 'yard', as Kodlak had referred to it, on the back side of Jorrvaskr. Vilkas continued on into the small stone clearing, past the covered seating area that was just outside the doors. He came to a stop in the center and drew his longsword from the sheath at his side, beckoning for Lisara to join him before he picked up a shield that had been lying on the ground.

When she stood across the way from him, he fell into a defensive stance, his sword held in his right hand and his shield on his left. "Arm yourself," he instructed.

She crouched and removed her daggers from their holders on the outside of her thighs. His expression lightened when he saw her weapons of choice and she smiled to herself at his newfound arrogance—that was how she won against larger, stronger opponents. They always assumed that because she was so slight and didn't use a sword that was nearly as tall as her, that she'd be an easy victory. A grin teased at the corners of Lisara's lips—Vilkas was in for a surprise.

Out of nowhere, Vilkas rushed forward with a deafening battle cry, closing the space between them. His arm raised his sword above his head, the muscles in his bicep bulging as he brought the heavy weapon down towards her skull. Pushing off on the balls of her feet, she deftly rolled to the side and slightly past him, slashing at the side of his leg and breaking through his leather armor. When he attempted to retaliate by shoving his shield arm towards her face, she rolled again and ended up behind his hulking frame.

The thought of ending his life here and now flashed through her mind but she knew she couldn't. For starters, it would be horrendously obvious. His fellow Companions would race out to the yard, see his dying breath and with her disappearance, would know exactly who the culprit was. No, she'd follow through with this silly  _test_  of theirs and follow him back to his bedroom tonight. There, she'd finish the job.

Before Vilkas could turn around, she hopped up onto his back, wrapping her legs around his wide waist. At the unexpected contact, he froze and she placed the cold edge of her dagger against the side of his neck, right against his jugular. He held his breath, unsure of her next move and with a quiet laugh, she whispered into his ear, "Got you. I think that means I win."

He hummed in irritation and begrudgingly admitted that she was right. "So it appears. Not bad, though. Next time it won't be so easy. Would you get off me now, woman?"

She chuckled under her breath in response and jumped off, sheathing her daggers. He did the same with his sword before tossing his shield aside. When he faced her again, the corner of his lips curled up. "I'm impressed. One, you drew blood and I can't remember the last time someone other than my brother managed to do that. Two, you're very fast on your feet. You're more skilled than I originally thought."

"I did tell you that I could hold my own," she replied, placing her hand on her hip.

"Indeed, you did. Come, let us report back to Kodlak," he said as he walked back towards Jorrvaskr.

"Then I passed?" she asked.

"With a win like that, it'd be a shame to turn you away. So yes, you passed."

"Is that a compliment, Vilkas?" she teased.

Vilkas snorted as he pushed through the doors that led into the main hall.

Lisara smiled at his back. With such an aloof personality, she doubted that Vilkas praised anyone often, if ever. The fact that she'd managed to squeeze a compliment from him pleased her. She rarely let any of her targets see who'd been the cause of her demise. Vilkas was a decent warrior. Perhaps he deserved that honor tonight.

The duo trekked back through the hall and down to Kodlak's quarters, where the older man waited for their return, perusing a book at the same table he'd sat at before. When they walked through his doorway, he glanced up and stood to meet them.

"Well? How did it go?" Kodlak asked as he turned to Vilkas.

"She passed," he admitted.

"I'd like to add that I passed 'rather  _impressively_ ', as Vilkas said," Lisara added.

Kodlak chortled and faced Lisara. "Is that so? Well, if that is the case then I gladly welcome you to the Companions, shield-sister. Vilkas, will you show her where she'll be staying?"

Vilkas ambled back out of the room without a word and after nodding to Kodlak, Lisara followed after him. She studied the back of his head as he led the way. His dark, chestnut-colored hair ended just above his shoulders and in fact, it was nearly the same length as Farkas', though Vilkas' appeared to be thicker and slightly shorter. His shoulders were broad but where Farkas was large in mass, Vilkas was more lean, more tone. A saber cat to Farkas' giant. Now that she sat there and compared the two men, she realized that they were far more similar in appearance than she'd originally thought.

_Brothers, perhaps?_ she wondered. Vilkas  _had_  mentioned his brother earlier, in the yard.

If they  _were_  brothers, she wondered if Farkas would miss his brother once he was dead. Many family members mourned the loss of their loved ones, but there were others who were actually the instigators of their sibling's demise. She wondered which one Farkas was. He'd seemed far too jovial and...kind...to be the requestor of the contract. If that was how he was all the time then yes, he probably would miss Vilkas.

Halfway down the hall, Vilkas veered right and halted in front of a set of double doors that were opposite from each other. He gestured to the one on Lisara's right and said, "These are the women's quarters. You'll be staying here with the other female Companions."

Lisara brushed past him and stepped into the room, noting the many beds lined up against each side, along the walls. If she slept here tonight, it meant that she'd need to sneak past at least three other bodies. It was a good thing she had enchanted armor and was exceptional at her trade.

Vilkas' voice called out to her from the hallway. "If you need anything, my room and my brother's room are just across the hall."

_Gods, could he make this any easier for me?_  she mused.

"Thank you," she said after she turned back around to face him.

He nodded and disappeared around the corner. Lisara sighed and set down her pack, choosing the only available bed which happened to be closest to the exit— _Convenient,_ she thought.

She sank down onto the quilt that had been draped across her mattress and laid down, crossing her legs at the ankle. Folding her arms across her stomach, she slipped into her meditative state and allowed herself to ruminate over the events of the day. As she thought of their sparring match outside only a few minutes ago, she realized with surprise that she'd laughed when she'd won.

Sure, she scoffed in amusement here and there and occasionally, she'd let out a dark chuckle but she couldn't remember the last time she'd honestly laughed. She'd enjoyed their seemingly playful banter after the fight and an uneasy feeling coursed through her at how comfortable she already felt around Vilkas.

_No matter. It only serves to guide my blade a little easier_ , she thought, as if to convince herself that it was true.

She had hours to waste until nightfall so she decided to roll over and close her eyes, pulling her hood further down her face to block out the light from the hall. Only a few minutes passed before she'd fallen asleep.

* * *

When Lisara woke some time later, the door to the sleeping quarters had been closed and the room was pitch black. The sounds of other people breathing deeply in their slumber surrounded her and she sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she lifted her pack from the floor and slowly placed her arm through the strap, moving slowly in an attempt to avoid making excess noise. With careful steps, she reached her hands out in front of her to feel for the door. Once her fingers touched gnarled wood, she pushed it open centimeter by centimeter, so that the hinges wouldn't creak. After she was safely out in the darkened hallway, she softly shut the door behind her and turned to face the opposite end of the area, where Vilkas had said he and his brother's rooms were.

She crept over to the corner, peeking around to the left and then the right, to ensure that the coast was clear. They'd left one torch burning to illuminate the path, likely so that people didn't stumble as they returned to their beds for the night. The little amount of light caused the various shadows to stretch far longer than the actual objects were, casting an eerie aura about the place. After setting her pack against the wall, she channeled Invisibility and clenched her fist until she felt the appropriate amount of Magicka coursing through her. Quickly, she threw her hand up into the air, then stared in awe at her fingers as she was slowly able to see through them to the stone that lined the floor beneath her feet.

Once she was sure that no one could spot her, even if they walked right past her, she slinked through the open hallway and over to the other side, where a set of wooden double doors sat opposite each other. She cursed under her breath when she realized that she didn't know which room was Vilkas'.

It was then that a man's voice floated through the air, drifting around the corner to reach Lisara's ears. A feminine giggle followed shortly after and Lisara swore again, ducking into the far corner at the end of the hallway and pressing herself against the wall. Though she knew they couldn't see her, if one of them bumped into her, it'd be over before it even begun. She'd rather not leave a trail of bodies in her wake.

A mammoth of a man rounded the corner, the torch light shining on his chocolate-brown hair, his arm wrapped around a female's waist. Their heads were close and the woman had her fingers entwined in his long locks. When they pulled apart, Lisara nearly gasped at the sight.

_Vilkas?! No...he's more muscular than Vilkas. That must be Farkas. So they_ are _brothers. Twins most likely, if I could mistake Farkas for Vilkas that easily. How did I not see that before?_

Farkas and his lady friend paused in front of the door to Lisara's left. The burlier brother fumbled with the knob until the woman giggled again and opened it for him, dragging him inside by the hand. After they slammed the door shut, her giggles quickly turned to loud, exaggerated moans and Lisara rolled her eyes.

_Honestly, some of the company men keep. Well, now I know which room is Vilkas'._

Crouching low, Lisara sidled up to the door on her right, turning the knob lightly to test it. When it stopped abruptly, indicating that it was locked, she pulled a lock pick out of her braid and inserted the tip into the keyhole. A thump sounded from down the hall and Lisara's left hand darted to the hilt of the dagger on her thigh as she turned to face the hallway. When no one appeared and no other sounds followed, she let out a relieved sigh and turned back to the lock.

She wiggled the pick, listening for the telltale sound of a tumbler clicking into place. It took a few tries but after a couple of minutes, the sound of victory met her ears and she grinned, reaching up to turn the knob successfully this time. The door opened slightly and she pushed it a little farther, squeezing in through the small opening before she shut the door softly behind her.

Vilkas' room was as black as the Void and Lisara rolled her eyes at the inconvenience. Why couldn't he leave a candle burning, like most people? After casting Night Eye, she gave herself a few seconds to adjust to the nearly black and white night vision. Her gaze swept around the room and she spotted the end post of what she assumed was the bed, just behind a privacy screen to the back left of the bedroom.

With silent steps, she crept over to it, straightening as she got closer. Vilkas was lying on his back, his forearm draped over his eyes. The thick, fur pelt that he used as a blanket was wrapped around his waist, leaving his torso exposed. One of his bare muscular legs was sticking out to the side, his foot dangling over the edge of the mattress.

Lisara tilted her head, admiring the view. Though he was slighter in comparison to Farkas, he was  _definitely_  not weaker—she had evidence of that now. She could clearly see the main vein running down his bicep, leading down through his forearm to the top of his hand. His pectorals were incredibly defined, as were his abs. A light dusting of fine hair was scattered across his chest, running down his abdomen and thickening just before it disappeared underneath the blanket.

She blushed when she realized where that train of thought was headed and swiftly pulled her dagger from its sheath, climbing onto the bed carefully so as not to wake him. She lifted her leg and went to swing it over his body so that she could straddle him and pin him in place effectively, should he thrash in his final moments. The second her knee returned to the mattress, Vilkas shifted slightly, moving his arm back down to his side and she froze, waiting for him to settle again before she sighed in relief. It was risky to be this physically close to a target and she knew that, but she couldn't help herself from wanting to feel his strong body underneath her legs.

His hair was laying across his face, blocking his features from view and as if she were unable to control her actions, she reached out and brushed the soft strands aside, marveling at his handsome face. Even with his eyes closed, the war paint around them amplified his features, making him appear more mysterious. It was a shame to remove such beauty from the world but alas, a contract is a contract and he was worth quite the pretty septim. Gently, she placed her blade at his throat once more, mirroring her action from their sparring match that morning.

* * *

_Her giggles surrounded them as she chased her brother through the forest, weaving in and out of the colossal pines that towered above them. He was so close—her outstretched fingertips nearly grazed the back of his shirt the last time she'd reached for him. He stumbled then, tripping over an upended root, and she grasped his collar as he fell._

_"Tag! I got you, Elias!" she exclaimed, her voice high with exuberance._

_He rolled over and pulled her down to tickle her mercilessly as he chuckled._ _Her brother smiled then and his young features relaxed, the corner of his lips turning upwards. The sun reflected onto his pale blue eyes, so light they were nearly the color of the early morning sky._

_"So you did! Not bad, not bad. Next time it won't be so easy though."_

* * *

Lisara gasped at the unexpected image of her brother's face flashing unbidden through her mind, as she finally realized why she'd felt so at ease around Vilkas earlier. His personality was exactly like her brother's. Quiet, astute, sarcastic but still playful at times, Elias had been her rock, her source of strength. When he'd left, her world had been shattered and she'd never recovered, her personality changing for good once she'd retreated into her shell. When she and Vilkas had bantered back and forth, it had reminded her, though subconsciously, of a time long past—a person she no longer was.

Her hand shook at the revelation, tears welling up in her eyes. She was angry. Angry at Vilkas for pulling memories to the surface of a person she'd fought so hard to forget, angry at her brother for leaving her behind to survive on her own against the onslaught of their father. Angry at the world, at her situation, at everything it seemed. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the tears to disappear as she tried to regain her composure.

What she didn't see, due to her eyes being shut, was that Vilkas had opened  _his_  eyes. When he felt the dagger at this throat, he knew immediately who it was that loomed above him. He took the opportunity that her emotional distress allowed him and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, yanking the blade away from his neck. His other arm wound around her waist—much like how Lisara had seen Farkas do to the wench that had disappeared into his room—pulling her weight to the side so that he could roll on top of her, their positions reversed.

When Lisara realized what had happened and that she was now the one who was at his mercy, she began to buck her hips, trying to push Vilkas off. He quickly clamped his hand over her mouth and lowered his pelvis into hers, pinning her in place. A wave of arousal swept through her lower abdomen as she realized that Vilkas slept in the nude, before she remembered  _why_ he was using his hips to keep her from moving, at which the feeling quickly passed.

He spoke then, his voice rough from his abrupt awakening as he demanded, "Mind telling me what in  _Talos' name_  you're doing in my room, let alone my bed?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Nightlain and StarryNight101 for beta-reading. 
> 
> A huge, huge thank you to all of my readers and to those of you who left kudos and subscribed. It means so much to me that so many of you were willing to give my first story in the Elder Scrolls fandom a chance, and that you enjoyed the first chapter enough to put your faith in me :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one as well and I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	3. The Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirmulnir makes an appearance and suddenly, Vilkas has other things to worry about now than just Lisara.

" _Mind telling me what in_ Talos' name  _you're doing in my room, let alone my bed?"_

Lisara cringed away from the harsh tone of Vilkas' voice. Granted, the burly warrior hadn't exactly been overly friendly earlier, but there was true venom in his words now.

A light sheen of sweat broke out on her palms, and the chill in the air drifted across them as her heart pounded erratically in her chest. So hard, in fact, that she was sure it would break through her rib cage at any moment. Vilkas had her left hand pinned underneath his right, suspended above her head. He'd grabbed her right hand before he'd rolled over and now held it tightly in his grasp out to the side, her dagger poised in the air with the tip pointing away from his face.

In direct contrast to the panic she was feeling on the inside, her face was schooled into a neutral expression; her gaze on his unwavering one and her mouth slack. She could only hope that Vilkas didn't notice her inner turmoil for fear of him taking advantage of the situation.

Instead, a sly smile spread across her face and she responded, "Would you believe me if...I said I'd gotten lost and mistakenly thought your bed was mine?"

He sneered at her attempt at humor and spat, "If it hadn't been for your knife at my throat and that I distinctly remember locking my door, then perhaps. Try again, before I lose my patience."

A beat passed before an idea for a rather desperate way to escape hit her and she dropped the dagger in her hand, causing Vilkas to glance to the side.

In the split second that his attention was focused elsewhere, she channeled Paralysis in her now-empty hand and aimed the spell for his face. It hit him full force and she could feel his muscles begin to stiffen, his joints locking up. Before he could fall on her and pin her to the bed—Gods knew she wouldn't be able to push his body off of her; the man probably weighed over two stone—she rolled over, using her momentum to push him backwards onto the bed instead.

Her Night Eye spell was still active and she could see his eyes darting back and forth as he panicked, unable to see her in the darkness. She leaned down and grazed her mouth along the outer edge of his ear, whispering, "See you next time, Vilkas," before she leapt off the bed and stooped to pick up her dagger before sprinting over to the door.

Since Vilkas was currently incapacitated, she didn't have to worry about him getting up anytime soon and warning anyone. Slowly, she pulled open the door, trying to avoid alerting his fellow Companions, and stepped out into the hall. After grabbing her pack from where she'd left it across the way, she glanced in both directions before hurrying over to the staircase that led upstairs to the main area.

The grand fire that had been roaring in the hearth earlier had already been extinguished for the night, leaving only the waxen glow of the moon to illuminate her path. Night Eye was beginning to fade, lessening her ability to find her way, and she wanted to make it outside before it dissipated completely. She had used up most of her magicka on those two spells and she didn't particularly want to end up running into a chair.

As her fingers wrapped around the iron handle of the mead hall's front door, a low, silken voice called out to her from the shadows. "Is that our new recruit? Where are you off to this late at night?"

Lisara nearly jumped straight out of her skin and so as not to rouse suspicion, she turned at what she hoped was a normal pace before answering, "I forgot that I left my horse at the stables outside of the city. I was just going to let them know that I was staying here now, so I wouldn't be charged an exorbitant amount. Not carrying  _too_  many septims after all. You know how it goes."

The individual stepped into a ray of light and Lisara saw that it was the Dunmer she'd seen earlier on her way to Kodlak's room. He smiled, his red eyes reflecting the pale rays as he said, "Ah, yes. I completely understand. I am Athis, by the way. I didn't introduce myself earlier."

Her grasp on the door handle tightened as Lisara tried to refrain from bolting out into the night. "A pleasure, Athis. I'm sorry, but I want to hurry out to the stables. I'm sure we'll speak tomorrow, yes?"

"Oh, of course! Sorry to hold you up! Hopefully he doesn't charge you too much!" Athis replied, before waving and trotting over to the stairs.

As soon as his head had disappeared behind the banister, she shoved the heavy doors open and hopped down the stone steps two at a time, before sprinting through the Wind District, back towards the city's front gates. She ran down past the marketplace and heard a commotion from behind her, glancing over her shoulder to see that Jorrvaskr's windows were now lit from within.

_Gods damn it all! Has he recovered already?!_   _I forget how resilient Nords are!_

As she neared the colossal tree that she'd admired earlier, she hastily cast Invisibility, using what little magicka she'd regained as she pushed herself to run faster. Her thighs burned in protest and she skidded to an abrupt halt in front of a seemingly abandoned house, just before the gates. With the alarm likely raised by now, there was no way she'd make it past the guards without them detaining her until her innocence could be proven. Considering the Companions had likely put two and two together already, having one of them come down to the gate to do the deed would not benefit her  _at all_.

Frantically, she glanced around for a place to hide. She couldn't jump into the stream that cut across the district—it was far too shallow and she'd just end up with soggy robes. The markets were closed this late and she didn't want to break into an occupied home; it wasn't worth the effort if she'd likely be heard anyway, especially if the owners were still awake.

As her gaze flitted past the abandoned house that stood right beside her, she jerked her head back with a gasp. The door and windows had been boarded up, which indicated that the chances of someone owning it or looking for her there were slim to none. She crouched near the abode, torn between attempting to sneak past the guards or taking the easy way out and hiding out in the house until morning. When the sound of shouting and hastened footsteps neared, a spike of panic shot through her and she sprinted over to the window on the side of the home.

The decision had apparently been made for her.

She tried to pry the window open but it was either locked or the weathering of time had expanded the wood, rendering it incapable of being opened—whatever the case, it didn't budge. Swearing under her breath, she debated breaking open the pane so that she could unlatch it from the inside, but what if it wasn't actually locked? There's no way she'd be able to reach in  _and_  pull it up and she had no way of masking the sound.

With another panicked glance over her shoulder, she hurried to the back side of the house hoping there would be an additional door but of course, per her luck, there were two other windows.

_Sithis, do you want this contract fulfilled or not?! Help me out!_

Muttering under her breath about how it couldn't hurt to try opening one of  _these_  windows, Lisara walked up the one on the right and shrugged before placing her fingers under the lip and pulling upwards. She hadn't expected it to work but apparently, Sithis had heard her plea because the window slid open.

_Thank you Dread-Father! I swear I will never doubt you again!_ Lisara thought as she climbed over the windowsill, an elated grin on her face.

She shut the window behind her as quickly as possible without slamming it, before turning to face the interior of the home. As she'd suspected, it was pitch black inside so she cast Night Eye once more and impatiently waited for her eyes to adjust.

The home was  _filthy_. It was definitelyabandoned and from the looks of it, had been for quite some time. Wasn't there anyone in charge of keeping it up to snuff, though? Then again, that was coming from an assassin who lived in an underground cavern. She wasn't really one to talk.

She snuck across the empty room, her footsteps silent on the dilapidated floorboards, and crouched underneath the window at the front of the house, peeking up and over the sill. The window had wooden details criss-crossing over the pane and it was frosted, so all she could see were dark, blurry shapes rushing by; it was impossible to identify any of them.

All she could do now was wait until they stopped searching for her within the city.

With gentle steps, she turned away from the window and climbed the rickety stairs to the second level, figuring there'd be a bedroom of sorts at the top. The first room she wandered into was empty and rather small with no furniture, so she crept back out of that one and across the hall to the only other room upstairs.

_Thank the Nine_.

A single piece of furniture resided in the second room: a bed. The posts were dusted with cobwebs and the frame looked like it would collapse under a heavier person but luckily, Lisara was petite.

Brushing her hand across the moth-eaten blanket and coughing at the dust that had been kicked up, she then gingerly laid down atop the comforter and sighed as her eyes slid shut.

* * *

Her slumber was thankfully too short to be plagued with her usual unpleasant dreams. However blissful it might've been though, it was cut short by broad, insistent hands shaking her awake. When she jerked her eyes open, Vilkas' large form loomed over her, his pale eyes narrowed and his lip curled up in a sneer.

"There you are! I knew you couldn't have gotten far, what with your horse still at the stables. Get up!" he shouted at her.

"Take your hands off of me and maybe I could!" she yelled back as she tried to swat his hands away, her voice hoarse due to her rather unorthodox awakening.

"Like I'm going to let you have free use of your hands. I've seen a little too personally how that ends. Quickly now, on your feet!" he demanded, wrapping his arms around her slender biceps and tugging forcefully.

"By the Nine, you're demanding!" she exclaimed as she scrambled off of the bed, falling to her knees as he pulled her weight before she could extend her legs out from under her.

When Vilkas went to pull her to her feet, Lisara swept her leg out to the side and knocked him to floor. He hit the wooden boards with a resounding thud and grunted as she sped off towards the bedroom door. She hadn't gone more than a step when his fingers wrapped around her ankle and he tugged, pulling her back down to the ground to join him.

The air whooshed out of her lungs when she hit the floor and he yanked her towards him, straddling her waist with his massive thighs. She squirmed beneath him and tried to crawl away, only to have him pin her arms underneath his palms, causing her chin to thump against the flooring. His heavy hand pressed against the side of her head and she winced at the pressure.

"To the Jarl with you," Vilkas spat as he dragged her up and out of the bedroom. He pulled her body in front of him and practically shoved her down the stairs.

"Oh, I'm important enough to warrant a visit to the Jarl now?" Lisara snided in response, the side of her nose pulling up in annoyance.

Once they'd reached the first floor, Vilkas grabbed both of her hands and gathered them back behind her body, grasping them tightly within his own enormous palm.

"Murder is an offense in Skyrim," he returned, his tone icy.

"Really? I wasn't aware. Besides, I didn't succeed so technically I  _haven't_  murdered you," she rebutted.

"None of your sarcasm,  _assassin._  I want silence from you until we get to Dragonsreach," Vilkas said as he shoved the door open and pushed her out into the harsh sunlight.

Lisara scrunched her eyes closed, the bright rays of light blinding her and sending little stars flying across the inside of her eyelids. Vilkas pushed her again, causing her to stumble, and she opened her eyes before acquiescing to his request and putting one foot in front of the other.

"Do you manhandle all of your women like this?" she mumbled.

"No, just the ones who try to  _kill me_."

She hummed in amusement as they traveled up the stone steps and into the Wind District. Her eyes traveled upwards and upwards...and upwards still until they rested upon the very tip of Dragonsreach's eaves, high above the Wind District.

The lofty wooden beams were tucked into the wispy clouds that drifted through the sky. She'd heard people say that the Cloud District was aptly named because of how high the Reach rose above the other districts. Considering Lisara could see for herself that it was in fact, up in the clouds, she was inclined to agree with popular opinion.

Before one could get to Dragonsreach, they had to climb an abominable amount of steps and she groaned aloud at the thought. Her vocal displeasure prompted Vilkas to push her towards the first step and she rolled her eyes at him, glad that he couldn't see her face.

They'd ascended the first set of steps but once they'd reached the first landing, the sound of clanking armor reached their ears and they both glanced up, looking for the source. A female Dunmer and a pair of armored guards were racing down towards them, their swords drawn and shields at the ready.

Vilkas murmured, "What in the…"

They came to a stop just in front of the pair and the Dunmer glanced up, her eyes moving past Lisara to look at Vilkas; her lips were pressed into a thin line and her red eyes were wild with panic. "Vilkas! Come with us, we could use your help!"

"Irileth, what is going on?" Vilkas pressed.

"I'll explain on the way! Come!" the elf, who was apparently named Irileth, demanded before she and the soldiers brushed past them and continued down the stairs.

Vilkas watched them go, his forehead creased and his mouth gaping open slightly. His eyes met Lisara's and she shrugged before saying, "Sounds important. I imagine the Jarl would have bigger problems on his hands right now than little old me…"

He grunted in response and turned to look in the direction of the soldiers. Irileth looked back up at them once they'd reached the bottom of the steps and waved her hand at Vilkas, beckoning for them to follow.

"Shor's bones, what terrible timing. Fine. We're going to help," Vilkas said forcefully, as he dragged Lisara down the stairs with him.

"You're trusting me to come along and  _not_  kill you, in the midst of a chaotic battle?" Lisara asked, her eyebrow raised.

"It's better than trusting you to stay put. I doubt I'd come back to find you waiting, like a good little pet," he replied.

She snorted at the visual of her obediently waiting for Vilkas' return. "If you're letting me come with you, I advise letting go of my hands. I can't exactly help if things go south with bound wrists, can I? Plus I doubt you'd be of much use if you had to hang onto to me the entire time."

Vilkas' tight grip relaxed at her statement and he released her hands, staring her down with his striking eyes. She didn't know if it was their remarkable color or his war paint but there was something about his concentrated glare that made her squirm—not many could do that.

"I won't hesitate to strike you down if you do anything suspicious," he threatened.

Lisara rubbed the soreness out of her wrists before nodding in agreement. Vilkas returned the gesture and sped off down the steps after Irileth, who had continued on to the front gate. When she saw that the two of them had decided to join up, she pushed open the door and rushed through it, Vilkas and Lisara right on her heels.

Irileth and her guards hopped onto their steeds and raced off down the path that led out of Whiterun. The only horse left was Shadowmere and Vilkas stared up at the stallion, his hesitance written all over his tense posture. The man's gaze lingered on the horse's beady, crimson eyes and he shuddered before shaking his head vehemently.

"Well get on then, big strong man," Lisara goaded.

Vilkas turned and glared at her, his hands on his hips. " _This_  is your horse? An apt stallion for a dark and twisted individual like yourself."

"Oh please, he's a sweetheart. Don't be a chicken," she teased before placing her foot in the stirrup and pulling herself up into the saddle.

When she leaned down with her hand extended to Vilkas, he crossed his arms over his chest and said, "I don't ride behind someone like some...some  _milk drinker_."

Lisara shrugged and grabbed Shadowmere's reins. "Fine, walk then," she stated as she nudged the horse into a slight trot.

"Wait, wait! I swear to Talos, if this weren't an emergency…" he muttered before gripping the pommel and swinging his leg over the stallion's body, settling in behind Lisara.

When she didn't immediately take off, he commanded, "Go!"

Lisara rolled her eyes again at his assertiveness before she snapped Shadowmere's reins and they were off, dust flying up behind them. In no time at all, they'd caught up to Irileth and her soldiers, who were racing off towards the west.

The heavy sound of multiple hooves pounding against the ground filled the air around them. The dry underbrush of the plains surrounding Whiterun flew past them as they headed in the direction of a stone watchtower just over the next hill.

Lisara maneuvered Shadowmere beside Irileth and Vilkas looked over at the Dunmer. "Irileth! What in Talos' name is happening?!" he shouted, his eyes frantic.

They were traveling so fast, the dark strands of his hair were whipping in the wind behind him and he gripped Lisara's waist tightly as they neared their destination.

"A dragon has been sighted, heading straight for us! We've got to stop it before it lays waste to the city!" Irileth yelled back, her gaze trained on the watchtower.

Lisara's head snapped around and she stared at the elf incredulously. "Did you say a  _dragon_?!"

Irileth nodded and pointed ahead of her. Lisara and Vilkas followed her finger up into the air where off in the far distance, a black speck floated, nearly hidden among the clouds. Vilkas shook his head and tightened his grip around Lisara's waist again.

"Dragons are...they're not real! At least, not anymore," he mumbled in Lisara's ear.

_Dragons in Skyrim? Vilkas is right—they're not real. They're in tales of old, the kind that old grandmothers tell their grandsons about the way things used to be_ , she thought as she gripped the reins tighter in her hands.  _Irileth_ has _to be mistaken…_

In an attempt to disguise her shaking fingers, she glancing over her shoulder at Vilkas and taunted, "Are you scared, Vilkas?"

" _Scared_? You offend me, woman! I've killed one of everything in Skyrim. This is a welcome challenge, legendary beast or not!" he retorted.

She laughed in disbelief at his enthusiasm and snapped Shadowmere's reins, urging him to move faster.

Once they neared the crumbling stone structure, they halted and quickly clambered off of their mounts. Irileth ran over to the few guards who were already waiting and Lisara and Vilkas trailed after her.

"Men! Be prepared! We know nothing about dragons nor how to defeat them. Stay on your guard!" she bellowed, her eyes watching the speck in the sky.

"Is she serious then?" Lisara whispered, leaning over towards Vilkas.

"I hope not. Look, it's getting bigger," Vilkas replied, pointing up into the sky again.

He was right. The dark speck that had seemed so small when they were racing towards the tower was indeed bigger now, its size seeming to increase with every passing second. After a minute had passed, it looked to be about as big as a large eagle and Lisara was able to see its wings flapping in the wind.

"Are you sure it's not just a bird, Irileth?" Lisara called out in jest.

Irileth turned and glared at Lisara, her crimson eyes narrowed in distaste. "I don't think a mere  _bird_  can wipe out Helgen. I suppose that makes you an expert on identifying dragons then, does it?"

"Touchy," Lisara mumbled under her breath.

"Lisara, I don't...I don't think that's a…" Vilkas trailed off, his normally tan skin fading into a sickly pale shade.

"What has  _you_  so worried?" Lisara said before turning back towards the speck.

Only it was no longer a speck. It was far larger than any bird she'd ever seen and she took an instinctive step back as the shape grew even more massive in size with every passing second as it neared.

"What in-" she began to say, only to be interrupted by an earth-shaking, ear-shattering roar. She clapped her hands over her ears and immediately crouched low to the ground, while Vilkas' hand shot up to grip the handle of his sword.

Irileth drew her weapon, prompting the guards around them to do the same. As she ran to take cover underneath a large, outcropping of rock, she shouted, "DRAGON!"

The guards scrambled for cover of their own and Lisara and Vilkas rushed up the broken stone ramp and into the crumbling tower. With another deafening bellow from the dragon, the ground rumbled beneath their feet and Lisara stumbled, catching herself on Vilkas' arm. He pulled her up by her elbow and pointed at the stairs that led upwards.

"There! Perhaps we can get a good vantage point at the top!" he shouted, his eyes wide.

She nodded and they raced up the steps, Lisara right on Vilkas' heels. Out of nowhere, the tower exploded inwards, stone chunks raining down upon them. A piece nicked Lisara on the cheek and she brushed it aside, feeling moisture on her fingertips. Vilkas faltered and pushed her a couple of steps backwards as the dragon's snout pushed into the tower, through the hole it had just created.

The air thickened and a blistering heat wave rolled through the gaping hole before Vilkas shouted, "GET DOWN!"

A torrent of molten fire came shooting out of the dragon's mouth, the blast so hot that Lisara could feel the hairs on her forearm burning off. When the dragon pulled its snout out of the opening and backed away from the tower, Vilkas turned and shoved Lisara away from him.

"Move! Move! Back down to the ground!" he yelled, gesturing frantically at the wooden door that led back out onto the plains.

She jumped past the remaining four stairs and bolted to the door, yanking it open so hard that it pounded against the stone wall behind it. The duo sped down the ramp, their mouths agape when they saw that the guards had already engaged the dragon, their bows drawn and their arrows flying through the air.

Lisara's chest heaved up and down as she fought to catch her breath. She craned her neck upwards, her gaze following the dragon as it circled through the air. Vilkas reached over his shoulder and drew his broadsword with a grim expression on his face, his normally full lips tightened into a thin line.

"Never would have thought I'd live to see a dragon," he mumbled.

She leaned over and nudged him in the arm as she spoke. "Consider yourself lucky, eh? How many people get to say they killed a  _dragon_?"

"That all depends on whether we live to tell the tale," Vilkas stated, raising his sword over his head before pointing the tip at the dragon, who was descending quickly.

"FOR YSGRAMOR!" he bellowed as he rushed into the fray.

Lisara watched him go and drew her daggers, pressing the cold steel against her lips.  _Dread Father watch over me, Night Mother guide my blade_ , she prayed before sprinting after him, an intense shout escaping from her mouth.

The enormous scaled creature landed in front of Vilkas, its considerable weight sending tremors radiating through the ground below their boots. Vilkas stumbled at the movement but quickly regained his balance and slashed at the dragon's legs, causing the beast to roar in pain. It clawed at him but he jumped backwards and parried with an agile strike to the dragon's snout.

When it swung its snout to the side in an attempt to knock Vilkas over, he ducked and rolled away from it, allowing Irileth to shoot an arrow into the creature's eye. The dragon reared back and screeched, its wings spreading wide before it took off into the air again.

"We need to get it back down onto the ground!" Lisara shouted over the thunderous sound of wings flapping.

"Agreed! Can you shoot a bow?" Irileth yelled.

Lisara nodded and Irileth handed her bow and quiver over, pulling her own longsword from its scabbard at her waist. The Dunmer pointed at the ramp they'd come from earlier and instructed, "See if you can irritate it enough with arrows to get it to land again!"

Lisara about-faced and hurried back over to the ramp, climbing it hastily and nocking an arrow as she turned and searched the skies for the dragon. She spotted it off in the distance as it circled back around, getting ready to swoop down on them. As it neared, she could see that it had its mouth wide open, the orange glow of an impending stream of fire growing deep in its throat.

"TAKE COVER! It's about to release fire!" she cried out, lifting the bow and taking aim.

Once the beast was within range, she let loose a rapid succession of arrows, each one hitting their mark and burying themselves in the dragon's hide. Thanks to her warning, most of the guards had hidden underneath the outcropping of rock, Vilkas and Irileth among them.

When fire rained down upon the field, none of them were hit and the dragon lifted off again, trying to gain its height advantage back. All of the archers opened fire and the creature's shrill cry of pain resounded through the air as it fell back to the ground with a massive shockwave.

The soldiers rushed forward and struck the dragon, their sharpened blades leaving crimson trails behind on the beast's vulnerable underbelly. It tried to stand on its feet to take off again but Vilkas slashed at the membrane of its wing, causing it to buckle and sway sideways. Irileth mirrored his tactic and chopped at the bone of its other wing, rendering it flightless and giving the men on the ground the upper hand.

Lisara dropped Irileth's bow and leapt off the ramp, racing forward with her daggers drawn. Using her momentum, she dropped to the ground as she neared the dragon and slid underneath its elongated neck, carving deep grooves into its flesh. She emerged on the other side and rolled to her feet, sheathing one of her daggers and channeling Frostbite, releasing the spell once it reached the height of concentration.

Snowflakes and a biting gust of wind shot forth from her palm and struck the dragon right in the face, causing it to turn away and howl in distress. Now that it was distracted, she turned to Vilkas and shouted, "Now Vilkas! Take it down!"

He nodded and grabbed onto one of the dragon's horns, swinging himself up and onto its spiky head. With a mighty cry, he lifted his broadsword above his head and brought it plunging down into the dragon's skull. The beast's gigantic head thudded to the ground below, its eyes empty and unfocused as it faded into the Void.

Vilkas hopped down from atop the dragon, sheathing his weapon and making his way over to Lisara, who had straightened and now stood with her warm eyes fixated on the dragon's corpse.

With disbelief written all over her face, she shook her head and mumbled, "I still can't believe it was real."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Now I really  _can_  say I killed one of everything in Skyrim," he jested.

Lisara rolled her eyes at his nonchalant attitude, wondering how he could retain a sense of humor even now, especially after what had happened between them earlier that day and what they'd just gone through together.

She opened her mouth to say exactly that to him when the dragon began to glow from the inside out, its scales seeming to melt off its body and disappearing into the air. As it slowly began to dissolve, a loud boom echoed around them and luminous streaks of gold shot out from the dragon, heading straight for Vilkas and Lisara.

Her eyes widened with fright and she quickly reached out, placing her hands against Vilkas' chest and shoving him aside as hard as she could.

"Look out!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Nightlain and StarryNight101 for beta-reading.
> 
> Thank you SO much to everyone who subscribed to this story! As of right now, though ToN has less views than some of my other works, it has the most subscriptions! I cannot even begin to thank all of my readers enough for liking something that I thought up on a whim! Many thanks to those of you who also left comments and kudos :) I appreciate every single one of them!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll see you next time!


	4. The Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas and Lisara return to Jarl Balgruuf, and then their journey begins.

Vilkas let out an oomph as they landed.

To Lisara's horror, the vibrant beams of light followed them down and struck Vilkas in the chest, enveloping him in such brilliance that she was forced to scramble away across the ground. The light became so bright that she had to squeeze her eyes shut and turn away until the radiance faded, leaving spots of darkness across her vision.

When she could finally see clearly again, she hurried back over to Vilkas' still form and hovered over him, watching for any signs of movement. A few seconds passed and he still hadn't budged, causing a spike of panic to shoot through her. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled her arm back and smacked him across the face, her palm stinging as she leaned away.

His eyes shot open and he jolted upright, his hand cradling his reddening cheek. "What in all of Tamriel, woman?!"

"Good Gods, Vilkas. You frightened me! I thought you were...I thought…" Lisara trailed off, her eyes dropping to the ground.

 _What_ did _I think? If the dragon had killed him, it would've finished the contract for me and I could've gone back to the Sanctuary. Why am I...why am I upset?_

"I'm fine. Except for my cheek…" he mumbled.

The guards wandered over and surrounded them, their jaws open and their eyes wide in awe. Their whispers circled around them and Lisara frowned when she realized what they were saying.

"Dragonborn…"

"Vilkas? A Companion as the Dragonborn?!"

"It can't be…"

"The legends are true!"

She looked back at Vilkas, whose expression mirrored those of the guards. When he heard what they were saying, he looked down at his dirt-covered hands, his stringy hair falling forward to hide his face as he muttered, "Dragonborn? 'Tis but a legend..."

"So were dragons," Lisara mumbled, her eyes fixated on Vilkas' hidden face.

He glanced up at her, his crystalline eyes peeking through the dark strands of his hair to meet hers. They gazed at each other for a moment, the world around them seeming to come to a complete standstill. Lisara held her breath, unsure of how Vilkas was going to react, or what he might say next. Irileth chose that moment to walk over to the group and nudged her way past the guards.

"Well I'll be damned. It was a real life dragon, in the flesh. I would've never thought that the rumors from Helgen were true, but now…" the Dunmer muttered as she reached out her hand to Vilkas.

The Companion grasped her hand tightly in his own and the female pushed against the ground to keep herself stable as Vilkas pulled himself up. Once he was standing again, he brushed the dirt and grass from his leathers and sheathed his sword behind his back.

After crossing his arms across his massive chest, he said, "So. Dragonborn. What does that entail, exactly?"

A guard meandered closer when he heard Vilkas speak and explained, "It's a legend of old. To be Dragonborn means that you steal a dragon's soul—it's power. You can then use it as your own."

Vilkas turned to face the guard who quailed under the taller man's intense gaze. With furrowed brows, he questioned, "And how do we know if that is even true?"

The guard shrugged and replied, "The only way  _to_  know is for you to try. Go on, try to shout. Only the Dragonborn can do it without training."

Vilkas turned away from the guard and stared off into the fields beyond the tower, his expression pensive, his forehead creased. Quietly, Lisara said, "He has a point, you know. If you don't try, you'll never know."

"I don't know what to do…" he trailed off.

"What does your gut tell you to do?" she prompted.

"It's like...it's as if there's this pressure, deep within my body. It's building, more and more...and I just need to…let it out."

Lisara gestured in front of Vilkas and insisted, "Then  _do_  it."

Vilkas took a couple of steps forward, his arms dropping as he clenched his hands into rigid fists by his sides. He crouched slightly, his knees barely bent as he inhaled deeply. He opened his mouth to release the pent up air in his lungs and he exhaled, "FUS!"

A whirlwind exploded from him, sweeping forward in a straight path, causing the dry brush to thrash around chaotically. Once the gust died down, it left behind a potent silence.

The guard who had spoken before stepped forward then, his hands outstretched. In a reverent tone, he whispered, "Incredible…"

Another guard piped up then and leaned over to look behind Vilkas. "What say you, Irileth? You've been awfully quiet this whole time. Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"

Irileth scoffed before she spoke, her voice dripping with disdain. "What I see is a dead dragon, and that is something that I can appreciate. I don't need a mythical being such as the  _Dragonborn_ to tell me that. Anyone who can kill a dragon is good enough for me."

The Dunmer glanced over at Vilkas before finishing with, "I think you all would be better off trusting in your sidearm than in a legend."

The guards shook their heads at Irileth's doubt and one declared, "But that was shouting he just did!"

She sighed and turned to Vilkas. In a quieter tone than before, she instructed, "Dragonborn business aside, you'd best return to Whiterun. I'm sure Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here."

After that, the female elf stalked off towards the tower, obviously dismissing Vilkas and Lisara. Vilkas' pale eyes followed the Dunmer and Lisara used the opportunity to slowly edge away, in the direction of the outcropping that they'd left the horses by. She hadn't even taken a whole step before Vilkas said, "Don't even think about it, assassin. Just because I'm not looking at you, doesn't mean I can't hear you."

Lisara grimaced and muttered, "That's so creepy."

" _Still_  listening."

She rolled her eyes and he turned around, narrowing his lighter ones at her when he saw evidence of her attitude. Pointing firmly to the horses in the distance, he commanded, "I haven't changed my mind. To the Jarl with you."

With a sigh, she trudged up the small hill and continued walking until she sidled up to Shadowmere. "You going to ride your own horse, this time?" she needled as she swung herself up into the saddle.

"Think you're funny, do you?" he grumbled, climbing up and onto one of the horses that Irileth and her guards had used.

She grasped Shadowmere's reins tightly in her hands and Vilkas impatiently jerked his head towards Whiterun, indicating for Lisara to go first. Tightening her lips into a thin line, she nudged Shadowmere with her thighs and he broke off into a trot which escalated quickly into a full-on gallop.

With Vilkas riding closely to Shadowmere's flank, the two of them raced back towards the town in silence, the only sound in the air of their horses' hooves pounding against the dirt beneath them.

As they rode, Lisara's mind was constantly at work, trying to think up the best possible escape route. There was only one way the visit to the Jarl would end: with her in prison for a very, very long time. Prison had never been a part of her life plan, and she had no intention of just sitting back and letting them toss her into a steel cage for the rest of her life. Or worse, execute her. She shuddered at the mental image and the irony of an assassin, cringing at the thought of a premature death, was not lost on her.

They finally reached the stables in front of the city and after dismounting, handed their reins over to the stable boy. After crossing over the wooden bridge leading into the area below the city gates, Vilkas turned to Lisara and said, "Can we walk like civilized people up to Dragonsreach? Or do I have to subdue you again?"

She rolled her eyes as she walked away from him, heading up the incline to the gates. "You never subdued me, Vilkas, I went willingly. Well...somewhat willingly."

His baritone voice drifted up to her. "That was  _not_  the definition of willingly."

"And here is where I shall agree to disagree with you," she rebutted over her shoulder as the guards opened the inset door for them.

They stepped through the open doorway and hadn't gone farther than perhaps a foot, before a booming echo sounded out across the skies.

"DO - VAH - KIIN!"

The deafening sound of rumbling thunder rolled over them, and Vilkas glanced upwards with narrowed eyes. "What was  _that_?" he murmured.

"You're the Dragonborn. You tell me," Lisara replied.

He glared at her. "We don't know  _anything_  yet," he stated firmly, before pointing at the stairs beside her. "Let's just...let's just head up to Dragonsreach."

They ascended towards the seat of the Jarl in silence. Lisara glanced over at Vilkas and saw that his mouth had tightened into a thin line, and his thick eyebrows hung low over his pale eyes—he was practically staring daggers at every single step they took.

_Everything that guard said about Vilkas being the Dragonborn, paired with that strange voice in the sky...I wonder what's going through his mind right now?_

Once they'd reached the top, Lisara turned and gazed out upon Whiterun. The view from the Cloud District was truly breathtaking and she slowly turned her head from one side to the other, admiring the handiwork of nature. From all the way up here, she could see the overturned hull of the ship that formed Jorrvaskr's roof, and the Skyforge, as well as the Throat of the World beyond. The colossal mountain rose higher than she was able to see; the peak extended beyond the clouds, seemingly touching the heavens.

Vilkas stepped up over the final stair and paused when he saw Lisara marvelling at the scenery. "One would think you considered this a casual visit, with how you stop to act like a tourist all the time."

As he brushed past her, he gripped her upper arm tightly and pulled her along, though not without a touch of gentleness. When they reached the massive, wooden double doors that led into Dragonsreach, the guard leaned over and pushed the door inwards, holding it open for them. Vilkas nodded his thanks as they passed through and the door slammed shut behind them, sending a small gust up that ruffled the ends of Lisara's hair.

Enormous columns lined the pathway towards the center of the main hall, but Lisara didn't have time to admire the architecture. Vilkas dragged her forward, giving her time to climb up the stairs with her dignity intact. Before them, a bonfire raged within its hearth, surrounded by multiple long tables on either side of the flames. The duo bypassed the area of comfort and trekked up another small flight of steps, coming to a halt before the Jarl, who was lounging in his gilded seat at the top of the stairs.

When he saw that it was Vilkas of the Companions who had come to visit him, with a woman in tow, he straightened in his chair. "Vilkas! Whatever brings you before me this day?"

"The dragon, for starters," Vilkas retorted.

"You saw it, then? It's...it's real?" the Jarl inquired, his voice rising in awe.

"Aye, I saw it. I also helped Irileth kill it."

"By the Nine. I never would have thought it was real. When the report of a dragon destroying Helgen reached us, I thought it was simply a farmer's tale. This...this is incredible," the Jarl muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor as he stroked his chin, lost in thought.

" _She_  can vouch for it as well," Vilkas stated as he tugged Lisara forward before the Jarl.

She stumbled as the momentum threw her off balance, but caught herself with her other foot before she face-planted into the floor. After throwing a side glare at Vilkas, she straightened and gazed into the Jarl's eyes with unwavering concentration.

"Jarl Balgruuf, it is an honor," Lisara greeted with a soothing voice.

"And you are?" Balgruuf prompted.

"My name is Lisara. I am a new addition to the Companions," she replied.

Vilkas scoffed and shook his head at her version of an explanation. Lisara spoke again before he could interject with his own statement. "As Vilkas has indicated, the dragon is indeed real. We assisted Irileth in destroying it."

Balgruuf nodded and said, "I knew that I could rely on Irileth to get the job done. However, I sense that there is more to it than that. What happened after the dragon was killed?"

Lisara hesitated and glanced over at Vilkas surreptitiously before continuing. "Vilkas may apparently be...Dragonborn."

Balgruuf's eyebrows shot up and he looked over at the Companion. "Is this true?!"

Vilkas crossed his thick arms over his chest and mumbled, "So one of the guards said."

The Jarl studied the other man intently before asking, "What do  _you_  know of the Dragonborn, then?"

The brunet shook his head and replied, "Nothing. All I know is that when the dragon died, I absorbed  _something_  from it. Some sort of...power."

Balgruuf straightened in his seat. "Then it is true. The Greybeards  _were_  summoning you."

At the same time, both Vilkas and Lisara asked, "The Greybeards?"

They glanced at each other, uncomfortable with being so in sync, however brief the moment had been. The Jarl went on to explain, "They live upon the slopes of the Throat of the World. They are Masters of the Voice, which is something the Dragonborn is gifted with: the ability to use a Thu'um, or a Shout. That thunderous sound that we heard a few minutes ago—they were calling for  _you_ , Vilkas."

The Companion looked completely taken aback at this new development. His arms fell to his sides and he looked down at the floor, his expression tight. The Jarl turned to Lisara and said, "I suggest you go and speak with the Greybeards. They'd be able to explain more about being Dragonborn, if that is what he  _really_  is. Are you two traveling together then?"

She opened her mouth to speak only to be interrupted by Vilkas. "No, she...she is…"

Lisara averted her gaze, bracing herself for the moment when Vilkas would condemn her to a lifetime in solitude; alone, rotting away in a prison cell, never to again see the light of day.

He continued. "She is not yet an official Companion, Jarl Balgruuf. We need to complete the initiation before she is to be called my shield-sister. But yes, for the moment, we are traveling together."

Lisara's mouth fell open and she turned sharply to look at Vilkas. He shook his head imperceptibly as if to tell her 'later', before he turned back to the Jarl. Balgruuf nodded and waved his hand at a brunette woman who had been standing off to the side of the throne, nearly hidden in the shadows.

"This is Lydia, she is your new Housecarl. I am proclaiming you Thane of Whiterun for your services in protecting the city. Doesn't hurt that you already live here at Jorrvaskr, either," the Jarl stated with a chuckle.

Vilkas nodded at Lydia, though he was still obviously recovering from everything they'd heard in the past hour. He mumbled, "Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf," before turning and placing his arm underneath Lisara's elbow, guiding her towards the door at the far end of the hall.

Once they'd stepped back outside and traveled to the end of the stone bridge, away from the guards that flanked the door, Lisara pulled away from Vilkas. She faced him with narrowed eyes and questioned, "What was  _that_  about?"

"What?" he deadpanned.

"Why didn't you turn me in?"

Vilkas shifted his gaze away Lisara's, staring off to the side as he hesitated to respond.

When he didn't say anything in return, she pressed on. "Wasn't the whole reason you dragged me all the way up here to report me to the Jarl? You could've been rid of me, could've had me thrown into the dungeons for the rest of my life. Why didn't you?"

Vilkas turned back to face her, his icy gaze boring into hers as she stared back, refusing to look away no matter how intimidating he might be.

Finally, after what felt like eons of silence, he replied, "Because you tried to save my life."

At that, confusion swept over Lisara and she shook her head. "What?"

"After we killed the dragon. When its soul left its body and tried to come to me, you pushed me out of the way."

"...Yes. So?"

"You had no idea what the soul was at the time. You didn't have any clue what it would've done to me, or to  _you_  when you jumped in the way. Right?" he urged.

"No...I didn't know."

"Yet you still put yourself in harm's way in order to push me aside. For that, I chose not to turn you in."

"Vilkas...I tried to kill you. As a matter of fact, my contract is  _still_ valid. I cannot return home without proof of your death."

"And that is something that you will have to figure out. But I am choosing to be the better person here and I am letting you go, in return for saving my life."

Lisara stood there, her mouth hanging slightly open as she stared up at Vilkas in shock. "Just like that? You're  _really_  going to let me go?"

Vilkas nodded and brushed past her, making his way down the stairs. He'd only gone a few steps before he turned and gazed back up at her. "But know this: if I see you again, I won't hesitate to kill you. Especially with the knowledge that you still have to kill  _me_."

They stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds before Lisara broke away, her gaze falling to the ground. When she nodded, he turned and continued on down the lengthy staircase. She watched him go and when he didn't turn towards Jorrvaskr, instead heading over to the front gate, she pulled her lower lip into her mouth and chewed on it as she fought with herself on what to do.

 _Let me go...honestly, is he that naive? I could just follow him and kill him during the night, when he slept. No, Vilkas is not naive. He's simply that..._ good _. I wonder how it feels to be considered a_ good _person...To have people greet you with sincere joy when they see you and not with terrified, wide eyes. He is everything that I am not._

She lifted her gaze to the Throat of the World, off in the far distance. As she traced the snow-covered slope with her eyes, her thoughts churned. The contract was still valid—she hadn't lied to him when she'd said that. If she returned to the Sanctuary without proof of his death, her 'family' would retaliate in kind; they would consider the contract void, as well as her life. Turning down a contract was not a luxury that members of the Dark Brotherhood had.

However, as she looked down upon Vilkas' form as he walked farther and farther away from her, she found that for once in her entire career as an assassin, she had no desire to end his life. He was pure, he was one of the few in the world that still remained  _good_  at heart.

In the past, she'd never cared about whether her targets were good or bad people. They were simply targets. With Vilkas...he made her question the path that she had chosen in life—something she had also never done before. She wanted to know what made him tick, what made him choose the right path over the wrong path, every time; why he had chosen to let her go.

She wouldn't kill him—not yet. That was a decision she would make later, after getting to the root of what made Vilkas, Vilkas. This was a piece of knowledge that she needed to gain. If she killed him now, she would wonder for the rest of her life.

With her mind made up, she raced down the stairs after him, sprinting at top speed in order to catch him before he made it to the stables. She reached the front gate and shoved the inset door open, frightening the guard on the other side when it slammed against the wood.

Rushing down the slope, she swiftly turned around the corner and spotted Vilkas speaking to the stable boy in the distance. When the teen walked away to grab a steed for the Companion, Vilkas turned his head and gazed up at Shadowmere, his expression pensive. To Lisara's surprise, he reached out and tentatively stroked the stallion's snout. When Shadowmere snorted at him, a smile teased at the corners of Vilkas' lips.

When she was only a couple of feet away, she shouted, "Vilkas! Wait!"

With wide eyes, he turned and saw Lisara running towards him, her braid falling apart, loose strands flying through the air. She reached him and bent over at the waist, bracing herself on her knees as she fought to catch her breath.

"Lisara? What—" he began to say, until Lisara held up a hand to interrupt him.

After she stopped gasping for air, she straightened and looked up into his eyes. In a firm voice, she stated, "I'm coming with you."

Vilkas' mouth dropped open and he quickly snapped it shut before narrowing his eyes at her. "Why? I gave you the chance to leave. Why didn't you take it?"

Her gaze dropped to the ground briefly, before coming back up and meeting his again. "To make a long story short, I...I feel that I need to follow through with this, until the end."

"And by the end you mean...my death. Why would I ever agree to let you come along?" he prodded.

"No, that's not what I mean—not anymore. I know it sounds ridiculous coming from me, but I don't plan on killing you anymore, Vilkas. At least, not right now."

"Not right now? So we could be on the road for a week and then one night, you decide it's going to happen again? I won't take that risk, Lisara."

"Oh for Talos' sake, that's not what I meant either! Stop twisting my words!" she shouted, before lowering her voice into a whisper. "I'm not going to kill you."

He studied her intently for a moment and that was when the stable boy returned, interrupting their stare-off.

"Sir, your horse," he stated, handing the reins of a chestnut mount to Vilkas.

The Companion thanked the boy and held the reins tightly in his hands, twisting the straps of leather around with his fingers as he thought about what Lisara had said. Without a word, he turned and hoisted himself up into the saddle, his gaze trained on the Throat of the World.

After a few tense seconds, he faced Lisara again as the mount shuffled underneath his weight, anxious to move. He let out a deep sigh and said, "Well. What are you waiting for, then? Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure many of you have noticed that I take some dialogue lines straight from the game, but twist/embellish them a bit to spice things up. After all, if you guys wanted to hear everything verbatim, you'd play the game, right? Bit of creative liberty going on, heh.
> 
> Thank you to Nightlain and StarryNight101 for beta-reading, and thank you to all of my readers, as well as those who comment and leave kudos :3


	5. The Throat of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas and Lisara head for the Throat of the World, and arrive at High Hrothgar after a small obstacle.

From Dragonsreach, it had seemed like the Throat of the World had been a mere arm's length away. She thought if she but reached out to touch it, she'd be able to feel the frigid temperatures of the fine powder that coated the craggy mountainside, feel the howling wind that swirled upon the peak.

At least, that's how it had appeared. Of course, that wasn't true, and Lisara knew that.

At this particular moment in time though, she was even more aware of how  _much_  that wasn'ttrue. They'd been riding for nearly two days and she was incredibly frustrated and beyond impatient. If she had been riding on her own, she would've made it there by the end of the first night. But no, she had to ride alongside Vilkas and his stallion; although it was a beautiful steed, it was  _horrendously_  slow.

For what was at least the fifth time that day, Lisara quipped, "How do you get  _any_ where on time?"

Vilkas sighed, and seemed to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her by clenching his jaw. "I get to my destinations in plenty of time."

She turned away from him to stare straight ahead once more, patting the side of Shadowmere's neck as she mumbled, "I don't see  _how_."

Vilkas glared at her out of the corner of his eye and retorted, "Whose fault is it again that we are a few hours behind?"

"I already apologized for that!" she snapped.

"Yes well, it does not change the fact that we  _are_  behind, because of  _you_."

Two days ago, when Vilkas had invited her to join him on his journey, she'd sheepishly reminded him that her belongings were still inside Breezehome. After all, he'd unceremoniously pulled her out of bed and tried to drag her up those neverending stairs to Dragonsreach. When would she have had time to grab her pack?

He'd groaned and dismounted, following her back into town. After they'd retrieved her bag, she'd looked into it and realized she was running low on pretty much everything.

So, they'd gone shopping.

Three hours later, with her bag nearly filled to the brim with food and supplies, they'd finally hopped back onto their mounts and rode away from Whiterun's borders. Ever since, Vilkas had been in quite the foul mood.

It didn't appear to have dissipated just yet.

Their bickering died off into silence and the sounds of nature surrounded them, filling in the absence of conversation. From behind them, the bubbling sound of the creek they'd just passed calmed her spirits. There was something inexplicably beautiful and soothing about the sound of traveling water. Overhead, birds soared across the bright, expansive sky, and their cries echoed down to the two riders.

Shadowmere's hooves crunched through the dry underbrush and the dull scent of dead vegetation hit her nose, causing her to wrinkle up the side of it in distaste.

Vilkas must've noticed, because he piped up and commented, "Not a fan of nature, I take it?"

"I like nature," she replied indignantly. When he quirked an eyebrow at her, she finished with, "Just not the  _smells_ of nature."

He scoffed in response and commented, "That's such a woman thing to say."

Lisara's mouth dropped open and she turned to him. "Excuse me? Need I remind you that I  _am_ a woman who kills people for a living—in case you'd forgotten—and can probably use a blade better than you? You really want to talk about 'women things'?"

His pale eyes narrowed at her and in a low voice, he muttered, "No, trust me. I don't need you to remind me of that."

With that, he snapped his stallion's reins and they sped off, leaving Lisara behind in a cloud of dust.

Inwardly, she groaned. Yes, she'd expected him to get irritated—in fact, that'd had been her intent—but at her fiery attitude, and not the comment about her chosen profession. There was something about being around Vilkas that tended to make her forget about the Brotherhood. Of course,  _he_  wouldn't.

The memory of the night she'd gone to kill him flashed through her mind again. Perhaps she tended to forget the reason they'd even met, because his personality  _did_ remind her so much of her brother, playful banter just made her feel... _comfortable_. It felt like her old life, though she understood perfectly well that it wasn't.

Her good-natured relationship with her brother was also peppered with moments of startling solemnity as well, though Vilkas was by far more serious than Elias had been. Besides, it'd been years since she'd seen Elias. She didn't even know if he was still alive.

How could she really compare Vilkas to a brother she'd only known for little more than half her life? Also, her brother was...well, her  _brother_. Vilkas was not. The basis of her feelings for both men were entirely different.

With a sigh at her own lack of tact, she snapped Shadowmere's reins as well and he lurched underneath her, moving forward and transitioning into a full gallop in practically no time at all. In less than a minute, she'd caught up to Vilkas and he jerked his head around, his eyes wide when he saw her beside him.

He pulled back on his reins in surprise and his mount dug its hooves into the ground, causing them to skid to a stop, dust and dirt flying up into the air around them. She eased Shadowmere to a halt and steered him around, so that she could face Vilkas.

"By the Nine!" he bellowed.

" _Now_  what are you on about? You raced off and left me behind. I simply caught up," she explained, exasperated.

"That's impossible!"

"Shadowmere is fast," she commented dryly, and her stallion shuffled in place beneath her. It seemed as if he was anxious to move once more at the mention of his name  _and_  his speed, in the same sentence.

Vilkas' eyes snapped down to Shadowmere, his gaze lingering on the horse's luminescent, crimson irises. He shuddered again, just like he had the first time he saw her mount, and then looked away, up at the Throat of the World. Lisara followed his gaze and they stared up at the majestic, colossal mountain in silence.

Eventually, he mumbled, "We should be there by nightfall."

"I assume we're making camp at the foot of the mountain? I doubt you'd want to climb that thing in the dark," she responded.

He grunted a sound of affirmation and nudged the side of his mount, taking off again. She rolled her eyes at his attitude and mirrored his action, following after him. This time, she made it a point to stay just behind and to the right of his steed's flank.

_Men. Does everything have to be a competition to them?_

Just under an hour later, the shadow of the mountain fell over them, cloaking them in chilled darkness. The sun was nearly finished setting, tinting everything around them in various shades of burnt orange and a deep, cranberry red. When they were almost at the foot of the mountain, Vilkas raised his arm to signify their destination and Lisara nodded, though he didn't turn around to confirm that she'd seen his signal.

Immediately after he dropped his arm, the deafening roar they now knew to be from a dragon, thundered across the open plains. His head swiveled upwards to stare off into the distance, and Lisara followed his gaze. From behind a full, wispy cloud, the massive silhouette of a dragon appeared and she gasped at the terrifying sight.

"Dragon!" Vilkas called out to her as he swung his mount around to ride towards the impending threat.

Lisara resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his obvious announcement and shouted back, "Yes, I can see that! I have a feeling these beasts know something about you that we've yet to confirm!"

She twisted Shadowmere around and raced after Vilkas, before continuing on to yell, "What do you want to do? There's only two of us, I'm not sure we can take one on by ourselves!"

What sounded like a guffaw came from Vilkas' lips and Lisara looked at him, her eyes narrowed in confusion.  _Did he just...laugh?_

"Is that a challenge, novice?" he bellowed.

At that, Lisara's mouth dropped open in indignation. Calling her a novice was, frankly, insulting. Sure, she hadn't officially become his shield-sister, but that'd never been her intent. It was as if he believed that she'd never had  _any_  experience before stumbling through Jorrvaskr's doors. The world did not revolve around the Companions, despite whatever he might believe.

"I am  _not_ a novice! I am also not an  _idiot_. A dragon is no laughing matter, Vilkas! I understand that you are confident in your abilities, but what if—"

He interrupted her to say, "We'll be fine! You saw what happened last time! Besides, we're the front line. We need to stop the dragon here before it can reach Whiterun!"

As much as Lisara wanted to turn tail and run to find backup, she knew Vilkas' logic was sound. If they didn't stop the dragon here and now, it would continue on to ravage the nearby city. She didn't have nearly as much affinity for the place as Vilkas did, considering she didn't live there. She also didn't particularly care if an entire city went up in flames—after all, she didn't know or care for anyone within its walls—but this was the reason she'd chosen to follow Vilkas.

If this was the 'right thing to do', then she'd go along for the ride.

The dragon swooped lower in the air, tucking in its wings to gain speed as it flew straight towards them. Vilkas unsheathed his sword and shouted over his shoulder, "I'll hold its attention! Can you hit it from afar with your arrows?"

"Leave that to me!" Lisara confirmed as she veered away from Vilkas and to the other side of the dragon's trajectory.

The gigantic creature's wings shot out and it halted in mid-air, before dropping to the ground, shaking the earth below them. Vilkas jumped back off of his horse and tapped its flank, causing it to sprint off to safety, before he fell into a crouch and held his sword at the ready. He ran towards the beast and rolled to the side as it released a blazing hot torrent of fire. He danced around the dragon, avoiding its claws and parrying its hits with his own lightning-fast strikes.

Meanwhile, Lisara had arced around the side of the dragon and hopped off of Shadowmere, sending him away as Vilkas had done with his own mount. She pulled her bow off of her back and nocked an arrow as she faded from discernible view.

Every time the dragon turned, she'd creep along and follow its side, waiting for an opening to loose the arrow. Vilkas landed a lucky blow, slicing right into the dragon's snout and it reared up in fury, letting out a roar as it flapped its wings.

_There!_

Lisara let go of the bow's taut string and the sharpened arrow shot through the air, whistling until it embedded into the dragon's side, hitting its mark underneath the dragon's wing. Her Invisibility spell faded as it whirled around, eyes wide in rage. When it spotted Lisara, it charged for her and she hastily backpedaled, trying to think of a way to bide time until her magicka was restored enough to cast another spell.

Vilkas tried to distract the dragon as it got ever closer to Lisara, but it constantly remained a few steps ahead. Suddenly, he stopped running and Lisara threw her hands up in the air in disbelief, before she turned around to sprint away.

_Why in the world is he stopping?!_

"FUS!" she heard from behind her, and a gust of wind nearly knocked her over, her hair chaotically swirling around her face.

_Oh yeah. I forgot about that handy little trick..._

Another roar echoed across the plains and she about-faced, spotting Vilkas with his sword braced in front of his body again as the dragon changed targets. Channeling Frostbite, she sprinted in the other direction, back towards Vilkas and the dragon.

As she neared, Vilkas landed a well-aimed blow along the tender cartilage of the dragon's wing. It howled and Lisara took advantage of the opportunity, throwing her hand out in front of her. A steady stream of frigid air shot towards the dragon, crystallizing as it arched upwards, striking the dragon on its side. This time, when it reared up to turn around on its hindlegs, Vilkas struck again, driving his blade into the dragon's underbelly.

It crashed back down on the plains, rolling over to hide its fresh wound from view and swiping at Vilkas with its claws in retaliation. He jumped backwards and managed to dodge the attack, but now that the dragon had hidden its stomach, it meant he was without a weapon.

Lisara darted forward, throwing her bow aside and pulling her daggers from their sheaths at her thighs. She ran forward, concentrating on gaining enough momentum and when she was nearly in front of the dragon, she pulled the same move she had on the first one they'd taken down. In a graceful leap, she slid underneath the dragon's neck, slicing into the thin skin of its throat. Its warm, crimson blood gushed over her and she twisted her body around before she came out on the other side, tossing down one of her daggers and yanking Vilkas' sword out from the dragon's stomach.

Once she had come to a stop, she quickly leapt to her feet while the dragon was attempting to recover from her attack. She hurried over to Vilkas and shoved the hilt of his sword into his palm, racing away to grab her dagger from where she'd dropped it on the ground. Vilkas nodded his thanks at Lisara before rushing over to the currently immobilized dragon.

Before it had a chance to lift its head, Vilkas swung his massive sword up and over his body, bringing it down hard on the top of the dragon's neck. It howled once more, and he repeated the motion, hacking away at its sinewy flesh. Its roars continued to lessen in volume, the more Vilkas made progress, and eventually, his blade sheared the dragon's head clean off.

Lisara stooped to pick up her dagger as the enormous horned head thudded to the ground.

In the aftermath of the unexpected battle, she and Vilkas locked eyes over the dragon's beheaded body, their chests heaving as they fought to catch their breaths.

Blood was pounding through her veins, the exciting call of battle still coursing through her. The dragon's lifeblood was still spattered across her face, marring her delicate features and providing a disturbing contrast. The frenzied emotions she felt were nothing compared to what she saw in Vilkas' eyes, though.

His pale irises were crazed with an emotion she couldn't quite place, filled to the brim with the thrill of the fight. His expression was nearly feral, the wide grin on his face so exaggerated, that he reminded Lisara of a predator that had caught its prey.

As their eyes remained connected, she shuddered involuntarily at the odd, displaced look on his face and he broke eye contact immediately after, shifting his gaze to the ground.

It was then that a loud boom reverberated around them and the dragon's body began to glow, just like the other one had. As the carcass seemed to immolate from within, Vilkas took a step back and the same swirling rivulets of gold soared through the air, striking him directly in his chest.

He stumbled at the force of the power, clenching his eyes tightly as it invaded his body. Lisara was glad that she'd been there to witness him absorbing the first dragon soul—if that was indeed what it was—because if she hadn't been, she likely would've been panicking. Instead, she merely watched in awe as the beautiful, multifaceted shades of the dragon's life transferred to Vilkas.

When all that remained of the dragon was a skeleton, he straightened and sheathed his sword behind his back, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the bones before him.

"Just like last time," Lisara commented breathlessly.

Vilkas turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. After a moment of silence, he stalked towards her and when he brushed past, heading towards the mountain, he mumbled, "Let's make camp. It's dark."

She glanced up, not realizing until now how close they'd come to the base of the Throat of the World. The fight with the dragon had pushed them closer to their goal, which she figured was one thing they could actually thank it for.

When they were only a yard or two away from the base of the Seven Thousand Steps, they came to a halt. Vilkas turned around and lifted his hand to his face, placing two fingers in his mouth. He whistled, the shrill cry ringing out over the plains. His mount and Shadowmere appeared from the cusp of a nearby forest and trotted over to them.

He gently ran his hand along his steed's snout, murmuring to it in a low, soothing voice. Afterwards, he reached into one of the saddlebags hanging from its frame and pulled out a glossy black rock, along with a cinched cloth pouch. Trekking back over to Lisara, he then crouched and held out his hand to her.

She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, and when she didn't hand him what he was obviously asking for, he looked up at her and prompted, "Firewood?"

"It's in my pack...Why didn't you just grab some when you were by your horse?" she questioned.

"Because your horse makes me feel...unsettled. Will you get it, please? I only need three or four pieces."

Lisara rolled her eyes at him and traipsed over to Shadowmere, who was standing beside Vilkas' mount. She unclasped the cover of her pack and grabbed three thin branches right from the top, carrying them over to where Vilkas was crouched on the ground. After she handed them over to him, she returned to Shadowmere and pulled her entire bag from its buckle, slinging it over her shoulder.

Once she stood beside Vilkas again, she dropped her pack onto the ground and slowly lowered herself to the ground, crossing her legs underneath her. With a sigh, she tilted her head upwards to gaze at the stars.

Skyrim was very different from High Rock in the sense that it seemed as if the stars were more vibrant here; they shone brighter, sparkled more vividly, appeared more majestic. She'd always loved looking at the stars and as she stared up into what many believed to be the heavens, she lamented the fact that she hadn't seemed to have the time, nor the opportunity, to stargaze nearly as much over the past couple of years.

Her life with the Brotherhood seemed to take all the most beautiful things out of her world.

At that thought, her eyes drifted down and over to Vilkas, who sat on the opposite side of the fire. His gaze was fixated on the campfire as the tips of the flames snapped at the air. He looked troubled; his lips were tight and turned down in a scowl and his ice-blue eyes were narrowed in obvious concentration.

She watched him in silence for a few minutes, studying his handsome face and tracing the sharp lines of his features with her eyes. He was very clearly a Nord, though she found that she didn't mind his rugged appearance in the slightest. The more she stared at him, the more she realized she rather liked the dark warpaint around his eyes...

Deciding that train of thought was still rather inappropriate, considering his opinion of her at the moment, she decided to go with a different approach to start a conversation. After surmising that he seemed to be upset, she inquired, "Are you alright?"

Vilkas started, as if she'd interrupted his deep thinking, and stared at her for a few seconds before responding. "I'm fine. You should get some sleep. Once the sun is up, we're going to begin heading up the mountain."

She lifted her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, clasping her hands so that she could stay in that position. "I don't mind taking first watch."

Almost immediately after she'd spoken, Vilkas shook his head and replied, "No.  _I'll_  take first watch."

Lisara frowned at his tone and said, "I've already told you, Vilkas. I won't do anything. If we're going to be traveling together, you'll—"

He interrupted her. "That's not why. I'm just...I'm not tired yet. Go ahead and sleep. I'll wake you when it's your turn to take watch."

She huffed and let go her hands fall free, her legs flopping back down to the ground as a result. Twisting around to grab her pack, she unfastened her bedroll from the underside of her bag and stood with it in hand, shaking it out so that she could lay it flat against the ground.

After smoothing out a few of the creases, she unbuttoned the top and slid between the fur-lined suede. She leaned over and dug through her pack until she found her small, feather-down pillow smooshed at the bottom of the bag, and tugged it out, throwing it down onto the ground and hitting it a couple of times in an attempt to reshape it.

With another short exhale, she plopped her head down onto her pillow, causing a loud gust of air to whoosh out of it. She laid there with her back to Vilkas, waiting for him to say something and when he still hadn't after a minute or two, she sighed again.

"Well, good night," she grumbled.

Lisara was turned away from Vilkas so she couldn't see whether he'd even heard her or looked her way. When another minute passed by in silence, she grunted and closed her eyes, forcing herself to try and relax enough to fall asleep.

Thanks to the day's taxing events, she drifted off within minutes.

Little did she know, when she'd bid him goodnight, she'd surprised Vilkas. He hadn't expected her to offer such a normal, cordial saying and had been struck speechless. By the time he'd recovered, he could tell that she was already asleep by the way her breathing had slowed and the gentle rise and fall of her small frame.

The last sound that echoed around them, paired with the crackling of the logs beneath the flames, was his low, gravelly voice.

"Good night, Lisara."

* * *

 A sharp spike of pain lanced through Lisara's head, and she reached up and cradled her skull, yelping in discomfort.

"What in the—" she exclaimed.

She shot upright in her bedroll, her wide eyes darting around to find the source of her awakening. Vilkas sat across from her, behind the fire, chuckling in amusement. After narrowing her eyes at him, she realized he hadn't moved at all the entire night and that it was now just before sunrise.

Opening her mouth to ask why he hadn't woken her to let her take over watch, whiskers tickled the side of her face and another pinprick of agony radiated throughout her head. After letting out a strangled cry, she jerked her head to the left and was met with the sight of Shadowmere's snout, his gigantic teeth gnashing right in front of her face.

"Did you just  _bite_  my hair, Shadowmere?" she accused.

Her stallion snorted and turned away, ambling over to stand beside Vilkas' mount. She stared after him in disbelief and when Vilkas chuckled again, she whirled around to face him.

"What's so funny?" she mumbled, disgruntled at her embarrassing and rather abrupt wake-up call.

"It's amusing that your own horse thinks he needs to be your personal wake-up reminder."

Grumbling under her breath, she pulled her legs out of her bedroll and stood, bending over to roll it up and clasp it back onto her pack. She lifted her pack off the ground and stumbled, staggering under its tremendous weight. It was far heavier than it'd been yesterday and she exclaimed, "What in Talos' name is in my bag?"

Vilkas glanced over at her and explained, "I put some dragon bones in it this morning. Figured it wouldn't hurt to bring some with us, and my pack was full."

Lisara stared at Vilkas in disbelief, taking a couple of seconds to recover before she replied, "Dragon  _bones_? Are you serious, Vilkas?"

"Yes, I am. They could be important. I just need you to carry them until I get a chance to empty out my pack."

"A chance to—oh Talos save me," she muttered, walking over to Shadowmere and securing her bag onto his saddle. She pet his snout and soothed, "I am so sorry you have to bear this weight, my friend."

Afterwards, she traipsed back over to the fire and plopped down across from Vilkas, who handed her a mug of water.

"Thank you," she muttered. After gulping down its cool contents, she placed the mug onto the ground and looked up at her traveling companion, questioning, "Why didn't you wake me to take over watch?"

Vilkas shrugged and replied, "I wasn't tired. Figured I'd let you sleep before we began the long climb upwards. I hear the Greybeards—or whatever people call them—are pretty high up."

"Won't  _you_  be tired?"

He shook his head and his long, chestnut strands of hair swayed slightly, tickling his stubble-ridden chin. "I'll be fine. Let's pack up. I want to head out."

Lisara nodded, accepting his answer, though she was suspicious that it wasn't really the reason he'd let her sleep through the night. From what he'd said after she'd mentioned her chosen 'career' yesterday, she suspected that he kept taking the first, and only, watch because he didn't trust her enough to fall asleep, while she remained awake.

They packed up their supplies and Vilkas doused the fire with a handful of dirt, before they mounted their horses and started on their way up the seemingly neverending path that led upwards into the clouds.

Though the path was lengthy, it wasn't horribly steep and their mounts managed the climb rather well. There were miniature pine trees that lined the trail, and the dirt seemed moist; Shadowmere's hooves didn't echo on the ground as they usually did on the plains. The sound here was deeper, more rich.

After about an hour of silent riding, the air around them dropped a few degrees and the dirt path began to lighten, turning into a fine layer of snow. The pines now stretched upwards much farther, closer to their full-sized counterparts on the forests below, than the petite ones she'd seen at the base of the mountain.

Up here, there were a few more boulders strewn about than there had been at the start of the trail, and they had to maneuver their horses around the obstacles more often than they would have liked. The pathway was still wide, but fitting two horses side-by-side on a mountain trail that was higher up than anything else in Skyrim, was unsettling.

As they traveled, Lisara studied the back of Vilkas' head, wondering how he could go an entire night without rest and still function so well. His reflexes were sharp, as they always seemed to be, and he appeared to still be in rather good spirits.

_Or at least, as good of a mood as_ Vilkas _could be in…_

She marveled at the fact that he seemed to be taking this whole 'Dragonborn' thing rather well. Most people wouldn't take such an earth-shattering, completely life-altering bit of news in such stride. Perhaps that was just how he was? Or the other option was that he wasn't, and was just incredibly good at hiding the way he felt.

That seemed more likely.

They finally reached a small outcropping that stretched beyond the trail. Vilkas pulled on his horse's reins and once his steed had come to a stop, he dismounted. Lisara followed his lead and after instructing Shadowmere to stay beside Vilkas' mount, she drifted over the edge of the cliff, sidling up to him.

They stood there, gazing out upon Skyrim's landscape in silence. The snow around them glittered in the sun's bright rays and Lisara was awestruck at the beauty that lay before her.

Vilkas' baritone voice broke the silence, startling Lisara. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"What is? Skyrim?" Lisara asked, keeping her eyes fixated on the world below them.

Vilkas hummed in agreement and in turn, Lisara nodded. "Yes, it is."

"Where are you originally from?"

She looked up at him and studied his face as he stared out at his homeland. She wondered why he was even bothering to ask about her past, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she replied, "I grew up in High Rock."

"I suppose that makes sense. You are a Breton after all, aren't you?"

"Yes…" Lisara trailed off, unsure of where he was going with this.

"What brought you to Skyrim?" Vilkas questioned.

She turned away, looking back at the landscape again when she next spoke. "Family matters, I suppose. I...I'd rather not talk about it."

He nodded, not continuing on with his little interrogation. Another minute passed before he turned away and ambled back to their horses, mounting back up and steering his steed farther up the path.

Lisara watched him go, her eyebrows lowered in confusion. Why did Vilkas care to know about her past? Was he trying to understand what drove her to join the Dark Brotherhood? What would that knowledge possibly do for him?

Shaking her head, she walked back over to Shadowmere and hopped back up, swinging her leg over the saddle and into the stirrup. Quickly, she nudged his sides with her thighs and followed after Vilkas.

Another hour later, the trail changed from a steady incline to smaller inclines, interspersed with flat, straight pathways. Now, the wind was howling, causing swirls of frigid snow to whirl around them, biting into their skin. Lisara lifted her hood up and pulled her mask into place, trying to protect her face from the harsh gusts. Unfortunately for Vilkas, he didn't have a hood and instead, was left trying to shield his eyes from the sharp bite of the maelstrom by tucking his face into his chin as much as possible.

_Are we ever going to get there?_  she thought, exasperated at how long they'd been climbing up the mountainside.

When the sun was at its apex, they rounded the bend and just past one more flight of steps, rose the high tips of stone towers. Lisara sighed in relief and Vilkas nudged his horse, urging it forward at a much faster speed than before. He was probably just as anxious to arrive as she was, if not more. Mirroring his action, she sped after him and caught up just as his horse leaped above the last step.

The duo paused at the base of what appeared to be a stone fort. The Greybeards were, apparently, more established than people tended to let on. From the looks of their residence, it had been here for quite some time and they obviously took great care of it, for the next flight of stairs that lay before them was completely devoid of snow or debris. It was as if the weather did not touch this one, single location on the Throat of the World.

Vilkas dismounted, tying his mount to a stone pillar just beside the base of the steps. He started to ascend the staircase, and Lisara hopped off of Shadowmere, commanding him to remain before she trailed after Vilkas. At the top of the staircase, a massive door with intricate designs carved into it lay before them.

Her companion paused in front of the doors, his eyes following the lines of the inset images. When he still hadn't moved after a few seconds, Lisara prompted, "You'll never know until you ask them, Vilkas. Go on, open the door."

He let out a long exhale, before planting his hands against the cold surface and pushing the doors open with a creak. Beyond the doorway, a hall comprised of heavy, colossal stone squares stretched out past their point of view. Along the walls and in the center of the great room that the hallway led into, tiny fires flickered, their dim light casting deep shadows across every surface. Their slight warmth did little to lessen the chill that the stone trapped within the fort.

Once they stood in the middle of the great room, soft, timid footsteps echoed around them and Vilkas turned sharply to face the small staircase on the left of the larger fire that burned just in front, and above them.

A tall figure drifted down the steps towards them, its hands folded in front of its body, hidden within the billowing sleeves of its cloak. When it neared, the illumination of the flames revealed the figure's face: it was an older man, his long, scraggly, thick grey beard taking up the majority of his visible countenance.

He inspected Vilkas in silence, his eyes roving over the Companion's sturdy, wide frame. After a few moments, he finally spoke up, his voice raspy and quiet, though no less commanding than even Jarl Balgruuf.

"And so, the Dragonborn appears."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to StarryNight101 and Nightlain for beta-reading.
> 
> Thanks to all who leave kudos and comments! Your feedback keeps me going :) Also, thank you to everyone who subscribed :3
> 
> Finals for my summer class are fast approaching and I'm sending myself into isolation from everything writing-related next week. I probably won't be updating until the first or second week of August, which is about right on schedule. If, for whatever reason, I go past that deadline, I promise I'm not abandoning the story. The end of the semester is just crazy!


	6. The Greybeards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas and Lisara arrive at High Hrothgar. That night, things are finally set into motion between them.

The bearded stranger's words echoed around them, filling the room with lingering whispers of a duty that Vilkas had yet to accept. A duty and title that carried many implications and responsibilities with it, that neither of them knew how to deal with.

_. . . Dragonborn . . ._

As soon as the implied title had left the old man's lips, Lisara glanced up at Vilkas to gauge his reaction. Unsurprisingly, his jaw had tightened, but otherwise, his expression hadn't changed. In fact, all he said in response was, "We'll see about that."

Lisara cringed inwardly at the blatant disrespect in Vilkas' tone. From the get-go, he was already implying to the old man that he didn't think any of this "Dragonborn" business was even real; that the existence of a legend, in and of itself, wasn't feasible in the slightest. Though, knowing Vilkas, he probably hadn't  _meant_ to sound disrespectful—that's just how he had come across. To Lisara's surprise, the corners of the old man's lips curled upwards into a smile and he held out his arms, the billowing sleeves of his grey robe fluttering in some invisible draft.

"Indeed we shall. Welcome to High Hrothgar, home of the Greybeards," he announced in his deep, gravelly baritone.

Vilkas grunted and Lisara stepped up to stand beside him, silently offering to shoulder the mantle of grateful guest. "Thank you, elder. I am Lisara, and this is Vilkas. We are of the Companions."

She heard Vilkas snort and she surreptitiously elbowed him in his side, eliciting an "oomph" from him. The old man in front of them chuckled and replied, "The honor is mine, Vilkas and Lisara. I am Arngeir. I take it you heard our call for the Dragonborn?"

Another grunt before Vilkas replied, "Aye, we did."

Arngeir gestured to the empty space just behind them and the duo turned, retracing their previous steps and heading to the edge of the room. Once they were facing the center again, Arngeir called out, "Well then. Let us hear the power of your Voice and we shall determine whether things are truly as they seem."

Vilkas shifted uncomfortably, dropping his gaze to the stone floor before looking back up at Arngeir again. He took a couple of deep breaths, seemingly steeling himself for what was to come. As he sucked in one gigantic breath, he clenched his hands into fists at his side and then opened his mouth. "FUS!"

A gust of air burst forth from Vilkas and blew past Arngeir, causing the old man to stumble. When he recovered, what appeared to be a satisfied expression spread over his wizened face and he walked back over to stand in front of Vilkas. Folding his arms into his robes, he questioned, "Fus, indeed. Now that that is settled...Why exactly have you come here, Dragonborn?"

Vilkas hesitated, glancing over at Lisara before he answered Arngeir's inquiry. "Originally, it was to dispel the rumors that I was the Dragonborn. Now however, it seems we've only confirmed it. I suppose from here on out, the question is...what now?"

Arngeir nodded and replied, "What now, indeed? The answer to that question lies within you, Dragonborn. What do  _you_  wish to do? Do you wish to learn from us? Or do you wish to continue on your own path?"

This time, Vilkas faced Lisara and raised his eyebrow in question. She shrugged in return and quietly said, "That is a decision that  _you_ need to make, Vilkas. I'm just along for the ride. What does your heart tell you to do? That's always a safe bet."

He lowered his head, appearing to process what she'd said. After a minute or so, he faced Arngeir again and set his jaw. With a firm nod, he stated, "I wish to learn from you. If I am indeed the Dragonborn, I could use your guidance."

As if expecting that response, Arngeir immediately replied, "Then we will teach you as we have taught the others before you."

At that, Vilkas reeled back, his eyes wide. "Then...the legends  _are_  true? There have been more that have been Dragonborn?"

His remark earned him a nod from Arngeir and Vilkas composed himself once more, setting his jaw. His eyes tightened and with a clouded, unreadable expression, he looked at Arngeir and in a low voice, asked, "Am I the only one now?"

A pensive look came over Arngeir and softly, he admitted, "I cannot say for certain. However, you are the only one who has come forth as of this moment."

Silence fell around them as Vilkas appeared to be lost in his own thoughts about what he'd just learned from the older, wiser man. Lisara watched a myriad of expressions flit across his handsome face, and she wondered what was running through his mind. It was one thing to hear rumors that you may be something of legend. It was a whole other thing to have it confirmed.

If she were in his shoes, she wasn't sure what she'd do. When he'd looked to her in his moment of uncertainty, she'd answered honestly and told him to follow his heart. What better guide was there, after all? But what would  _her_  heart say, if someone told her that her destiny consisted of being Dragonborn? Especially when it was so unclear what exactly that destiny  _was_.

Finally, Vilkas locked eyes with Arngeir. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but no less firm. "I am ready."

Arngeir nodded. "Time will tell us whether you have the discipline and temperament to learn the Way of the Voice. Lisara explained that you are both from the Companions. I suspect that the discipline required to learn a warrior's path will help you in this endeavor as well.

"From your display a few moments ago, we already know that you are capable of projecting your voice into a Shout. Let us see how well you can  _learn_."

The priest traipsed around to the other edge of the room to stand beside another man, who hadn't been there when they'd first walked in. "A Shout is in the language of the dragons. As the Dragonborn, you have the inborn ability to learn Words of Power."

Vilkas moved away from Lisara, after his new teacher, and she shivered at the sudden loss of his body heat beside her. This fortress was colder than it had seemed when they'd first arrived. Perhaps she was just becoming  _too_ accustomed to his imposing presence at her side.

When Vilkas stood next to Arngeir, the old man continued. "Shouts consist of three Words of Power. With each new word you learn, your Shout becomes stronger." He gestured to the priest beside him and finished, "Master Einarth will now teach you 'Ro', the second word in the Shout you've already begun to learn: Unrelenting Force."

Vilkas lowered his eyebrows and asked, "What do the words mean?"

"Fus means force, Ro means balance. The second word allows you to focus the strength of your Shout," Arngeir explained.

Vilkas nodded and looked to Einarth, who waved his hand above the floor. Vilkas glanced down and his eyes widened in surprise. Curious, Lisara followed his gaze and saw that markings had emerged in the stone; they seemed to glow from within and wavered in the air, marked with invisible power.

She sucked in a sharp breath, struck with awe.  _This is incredible…_

Vilkas stared intently at the markings for a few seconds, until they faded from view and he straightened, newfound understanding burning in his eyes. A small smile teased at the corners of Arngeir's lips and he commented, "You learn fast. Normally, after learning a new word, you would become adept at its use by constant practice. However, as the Dragonborn, you are able to absorb a dragon's soul, and in turn, its knowledge. This time, you will use Master Einarth's mastery of 'Ro'."

Vilkas looked confused for a moment as he faced Einarth again. The other priest began to glow from within, much like how a dragon did as it began to fade from existence. Rather than radiant tendrils of gold, the aura surrounding Einarth was comprised of various beautiful shades of amber and violet. The colorful magnificence drifted through the air towards Vilkas and struck him in the chest, enveloping his body with the same ethereal glow that had been around Einarth only moments before.

When the brilliance faded, Vilkas straightened and squared his shoulders. Arngeir held out his hand to Vilkas and commanded, "Use the Shout again, Dragonborn. Use it to strike the targets we create."

Out of nowhere, more priests clad in matching grey robes appeared from the depths of the fortress and Lisara jumped, startled at their numbers. There were more of the Greybeards than they'd originally anticipated. She stepped back from the center of the room to make way for them, pressing herself against the stone wall below the fire that burned above her.

At the same time, Vilkas stepped forward and braced his hands on his hips. One of the other priests raised his arms into the air and the telltale sound of a portal opening echoed throughout the room; the sound was almost hollow, the perfect representation of what it might sound like for air to be sucked into a vacuum and nether-energy filling the void in its absence.

A transparent silhouette appeared in the midst of the portal and Arngeir nodded at Vilkas, who faced the "target" with a determined expression. Clenching his fists again, he bellowed, "FUS — RO!"

This time, Lisara noticed that the power of the shout was different. Before, it was as if a strong gust of wind or a small tornado flew forth from Vilkas' lips. It looked uncomfortable to be caught up in the maelstrom, since the victims usually stumbled, but they would recover within seconds. Now, it seemed as if the very air around the blast wavered with energy, and the few priests that had been caught in the tail end of the tempest took longer to regain their balance.

She had to resist the urge to clap like a proud parent. It seemed that only a few minutes with the Greybeards had already increased Vilkas' strength by double, and she could only imagine what more training under their wing would do for him.

Arngeir lowered his head in a nod—though to Lisara, it seemed more akin to a reverent bow—and noted, "As I thought: you learn very quickly. Your next level of training will be with Master Borri. However, I know that you and your companion have traveled far to reach us. What say you about resting for the remainder of the day? You can begin your training at sunrise."

Vilkas returned the gesture that was both a nod and a bow, and the priests all began filing out of the room. Arngeir turned and headed towards the stairs he had descended from earlier, waving his hand at Lisara and Vilkas. "Follow me. I will show you where you will be staying while you remain with us."

After the trio had climbed the steps, Arngeir turned left, leading them down a dimly-lit hallway. At the end of the corridor, a set of gilded bronze doors lay, resting opposite from one another. A lone torch was placed on the wall behind the priest; the meager flames flickered back and forth, bestowing their warm glow on the metallic doors. Arngeir faced the duo, and the low light cast his face in shadow.

The elder gestured to the door on his right when he looked at Vilkas. "This is the room that many other Dragonborns before you have stayed in. It is here that you shall reside."

He then gestured to the door on his left and said, "This is our additional guest quarters. Often times, the Dragonborn brings along companions and so, it is  _here_ that you shall stay, Lisara."

They nodded and Arngeir continued on to say, "We partake in our evening meal right before the sun begins to set. That should be in about five or six hours. You are welcome to join us then. The dining hall is on the opposite side of the fortress." With that, he brushed past the two and made his way back towards the main hall.

Lisara watched him go and it wasn't until he'd disappeared around the corner that she faced Vilkas again. The unexpected sight of his pale eyes staring straight into hers made her jump. To cover up her shock, she raised an eyebrow and in a sardonic tone, asked, "Yes? Can I help you?"

Serious as ever, Vilkas shook his head and replied, "This has nothing to do with you. Why are you staying?"

She tilted her head to the side and responded, "I have my reasons."

"And they would be?" he pressed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lisara hesitated, unsure of how to explain to Vilkas that she'd stayed because he was a mystery that she intended to solve. She was intrigued by his moral compass that always seemed to point due north. She'd stayed because she wanted to see if she too, could be as good of a person as he was.

_How do you tell that to someone without sounding absolutely crazy?_

Instead of responding, she opted for silence and turned away from him, reaching for her door handle. His fingers wrapped around her upper arm and she tensed, glancing over her shoulder at him. The last time they'd touched—in such close quarters anyway—had been the night she'd had her blade at his throat.

She looked up at him in a silent question and he dropped his hand quickly, as if he hadn't realized what he'd done until just then. His gaze fell to the floor and he opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again immediately after. With a sigh, he looked back up at her and said, "I will see you at our evening meal."

 _That's it?_   _All that just to tell me he'd see me at supper?_

Disappointed for some reason, Lisara nodded curtly and let herself into her room. She didn't look back at Vilkas, who was still standing in the hallway, before she shut her door. A sigh of her own escaped her and she leaned against the metal door, feeling the chill of the copper even through her shrouded leather armor.

Speaking of her armor, an unpleasant scent wafted up to her nostrils and she sniffed her arm, reeling back in disgust when she realized how awful she smelled.

_No wonder he let go of me so quickly…_

Scanning the room, she noticed a wash basin in the far corner beside the bed and beelined for it. She dropped her pack onto the mattress and quickly stripped out of her armor, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor.

After dipping a finger into the water, her suspicions were confirmed: the water was  _freezing_. Deftly, she unclasped the top of her pack and reached inside, digging around for her toiletries. Her fingers wrapped around the cloth drawstring bag near the bottom and she pulled it out, removing her soap bar and wash rag from within.

She set them down on the edge of the wash basin and planted her hands around the bowl, channeling Fire into her fingertips. Bubbles rose to the surface of the water and when steam started to rise, she dropped the spell and let go of the bowl, testing the temperature again.

 _Perfect_ , she thought with a smile.

Quickly, she washed her body of the dirt and grime that had accumulated since before she reached Whiterun, sighing in content at the feeling of being clean. When her body was spotless and her hair was rid of dust and caked blood, she picked up her armor from the floor and dunked each individual piece into the bowl, scrubbing the leather with the rag until the water turned brown. Afterwards, she draped them over the edge of the bed to let them dry, opting for more comfortable clothing for the second half of the day.

A chuckle escaped her; Vilkas would probably be wandering around the fortress in his armor all night. He would be the type to say he needed to "remain ever vigilant", regardless of their surroundings.

She pulled a pair of black, cloth pants from her pack and slid them on, pairing them with a simple linen tunic that cinched at the waist. After piling her hair atop her head and securing it in a bun with a leather strap, she stretched her arms above her head, then side to side. She both felt and heard her back popping in quick succession and sighed at the relief of tension. After shoving her feet into her boots, she placed her hands on her hips and gazed around the room again. When nothing interesting caught her eye, she said, "Now what?"

Her cleaning routine couldn't have taken more than an hour, at the very most. That meant they still had nearly five hours until it was time to eat. What in the world was she supposed to do until then?

 _We've only been here for a little while and I'm already bored,_  she thought.

Her eyes drifted over to her door and she stared at it for a moment, contemplating her options, before finally striding over to it.  _Perhaps I'll see what he's up to._

Pulling the heavy, metal door open with a creak, she peeked down the hall and didn't spot a single person. She grunted to herself and stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind her. With two quick steps, she walked over to Vilkas' door and before she could weigh the pros and cons, she lifted her hand and knocked firmly on it; the sound echoed through the room beyond.

She tapped her foot on the stone floor as she waited for a nearly a full minute. The door never opened and Vilkas never called out. She lowered her eyebrows in annoyance and lifted her hand to knock again, albeit louder this time. After yet another minute and still no response, she huffed and crossed her arms over her slender frame.

_What in Talos' name could he be doing?_

Lisara pulled out a lockpick that she'd hidden in the depths of her bun and kneeled in front of his door. She made quick work of it and pushed the metal door open, still crouched on the ground as she shoved the lockpick back into her hair. In a singsong voice, she called out, "Oh Vilkas…"

Straightening, she wandered into his room and looked around, finally realizing that he was not inside. An irritated exhale left her and she pivoted on her heel, stalking back out into the hallway and slamming his door shut behind her.

 _The fortress can't be that big_ , she thought as she traipsed back into the main hall.

She'd been partially right in her assessment. High Hrothgar wasn't large in comparison to say, the Blue Palace in Solitude. But it wasn't exactly a small town hold, either. There were doors and stairs leading out of the main hall in all directions and she was feeling slightly overwhelmed. How in the world did any of the Greybeards know where they were going?

While she was twirling in place and trying to choose a direction to go in, the soft, lilting tune of a lute being played reached her ears. She paused in mid-step, marveling at the relaxing melody that seemed so out of place in this frigid environment.

Following the sound, she faced the opening to the hallway in front of her. It sounded like the hypnotic notes were coming from that direction and with silent, hesitant steps, she meandered down the corridor. Before she rounded the corner, she could see the warm, orange glow of a large fire reflecting on the wall, and the air around her was noticeably more inviting than it had been in the main hall.

Finally, she turned around the bend and descended a short flight of steps into an open dining hall with high ceilings. Though the room appeared to be empty, the music was definitely coming from here; the notes were far more amplified here, due to the high ceilings, and the atmosphere was welcoming. Lisara thought that might be in part to both the music and the flames that burned within the massive hearth that lay in the center of the room.

To her surprise, Vilkas was sitting in a chair beside the fire, lute in hand. His fingers deftly strummed the strings, eliciting a harmonious tune from the wooden instrument, and it was obvious that he'd known how to play for a large portion of his life. Slowly, she made her way closer, stepping around stools and tables that were strewn about the room.

She leaned against a bench, some distance away from Vilkas, and observed him as he played. He'd also changed into more casual clothes and was dressed in something similar to her own outfit: a pair of plain cotton pants and a dark tunic. His face was more relaxed than she'd ever seen it and if she didn't know better, she might've thought that the corners of his lips were tilted upwards in a slight smile. When he struck the last chord and it echoed around them, she applauded lightly and praised, "That was lovely, Vilkas."

His head shot up and he met her gaze, his eyes wide with surprise. "I...I did not realize you were here."

"Well," she began as she pushed off of the bench and approached him, "I would be a terrible assassin if you  _had_  heard me."

Again, much to her surprise, instead of becoming moody at the mention of her trade, he scoffed and set the lute down beside him. "I suppose that is true."

She answered his comment with a smile and sank down onto a stool next to him, though she left one free in between them. They sat there in companionable silence for a minute or two before Vilkas spoke again.

"Did you need something?" he asked, his voice quiet and cordial.

"No. I was just bored and I went to find you, but you weren't in your room. When I went back to the main hall, I heard the lute. After I followed it, I found  _you_ ," she explained.

He nodded and rested his right hand on his right knee, leaving his posture open as he faced her. They stared at each other, though Lisara found that she wasn't uncomfortable holding his gaze. Something about the magnificent music he'd just been playing had changed the atmosphere between them, and she smiled again.

"Are you excited?" Lisara asked.

Vilkas raised his eyebrow and questioned, "For?"

"For being here! You  _are_  the Dragonborn, we know that for certain now. Aren't you excited at the prospect of all the things the Greybeards can teach you?"

Vilkas' pleasant expression fell slightly and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Lisara kicked herself mentally for asking the wrong question. She'd thought he'd be happy that there was no longer any doubt about his destiny, but apparently, she'd been mistaken; now, he only looked troubled.

In a quiet murmur, he replied, "I don't know."

Lisara tilted her head at him. After a few seconds, he continued. "I am...I  _think_  I am glad to hear the truth. Not knowing something about yourself is difficult and I am happy that, as you said, now I know that I am the Dragonborn for certain. But...what now? Where do I go from here?"

As soon as the words left his lips, he dropped his hands into his lap, interlacing his fingers as he stared down at them. Lisara studied him for a moment, wondering at the fact that such a strong warrior could have such potent doubts about himself.

"You are a Companion, Vilkas. You are surrounded by your family; you have your brother; you are not alone. Whatever your path in life may be, it is not a decision that you have to make on your own. We came to see the Greybeards to learn the truth, right? Now we know that they can also teach you how to master your abilities. Think of it as an opportunity that only  _you_ can experience," she encouraged.

Vilkas looked up at her and blinked a couple of times before he responded, "Yes, an opportunity, as well as a burden, that only  _I_  can bear."

Lisara scoffed and shook her head. "Well if you think about it that way, you're bound to feel depressed. You make it sound like an obligation."

"What if it  _is_?" he countered.

She shrugged. "Then it is. That's something you probably can't change, so why worry about it?"

"Is that how you live your life? Taking everything in stride and not caring about the hows or whys of things?" Vilkas retorted.

Lisara faced him and narrowed her eyes at his condescending tone. "Yes, because it is the only way I can remain myself. If I sat in my room and thought about all of the things that went wrong in my life, wondered about the whys and hows as you put it, then I would never get out of bed. I would never be able to do anything I wanted to do or live for myself." She shot to her feet and looked down at Vilkas as she finished, "I refuse to let my  _destiny_  or my  _fate_  dictate my outlook on the future. You shouldn't either."

With that, she whirled around and headed for the stairs. The sound of a stool clattering to the floor startled her and suddenly, Vilkas was grabbing her arm, preventing her from leaving. She turned sharply and glared at him. "What?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to anger you. I just...I don't know up from down right now," Vilkas said, by way of an apology.

The fact that Vilkas, an undeniably proud Nord, was offering an olive branch to her, caused her anger to peter out and she sighed, deflated. He jerked his head towards the fire as he wandered back over to it and she trailed after him. After righting his stool, he sat back down and she followed suit, though the air between them was tense now.

She crossed her legs and looked away from him, training her gaze on the stone tile that made up the floors. A few seconds passed before Vilkas asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Lisara sighed again and turned back to meet his gaze. "Talk about what?"

"Whatever it is you were referring to when you mentioned fate."

She tensed and broke eye contact, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. "I...I wouldn't know where to start."

Vilkas shifted on his stool, bracing his arm on his leg again. "Tell you what, I'll start. Then you can see how you feel about sharing."

Lisara laughed under her breath, short and singular, before she nodded in agreement. Vilkas cleared his throat and looked upwards, appearing to collect his thoughts. Finally, he started with. "Obviously since you're not blind, you know that Farkas and I are twins."

She rolled her eyes and nodded again, prompting him to continue. "Though we're identical, we couldn't be more opposite in personality. When we were pups, there was this one time we were training in the back courtyard at Jorrvaskr, and Farkas nearly ran himself through with a sword."

He let out a chuckle and Lisara's smile widened when she saw the obvious joy on his face when he talked about his brother. "How did he manage to do that?" she asked.

Vilkas looked down at her and said, "He'd been holding it too close and when he stabbed the dummy straight through, he pulled it out with him when he bounced backwards. When he fell, the blade fell with him. Luckily, it landed beside him, but it could've easily impaled him."

The visual was amusing: a small, clumsy Farkas bumbling around with a sword that was probably as tall as he was; the panicked expression on his face when he saw the blade falling towards him. Lisara laughed and said, "What a morbid thing to laugh at."

"I'm sure that's nothing new for you," Vilkas noted. Though his words could be misconstrued, there was mirth twinkling in his eyes and Lisara smiled.

"No, it's not. Assassins tend to have rather morbid senses of humor overall."

He scoffed and fell silent, looking at her expectantly. She sighed, not sure if she was ready to come clean about the reason she'd come to Skyrim and joined the Dark Brotherhood. Although, she supposed sharing something about her past wouldn't hurt. After all, Vilkas had placed quite a bit of faith in her and had just shared something about his younger years; it would only be fair of her to return the gesture.

"I have a brother as well," she admitted in a quiet voice. So quiet in fact, that Vilkas had to lean forward.

"A brother?" he repeated.

When she nodded, he leaned back and raised his eyebrows at her. "Why have you never mentioned him before now?"

"I don't bring him up often—or at all, if I can help it. It's somewhat of a painful topic. I...I haven't seen him since I was fourteen."

Vilkas studied her intently, as if he were searching for some semblance of a lie in her expression. Eventually, he asked, "How old are you now?"

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Lisara leaned over and nudged him in the arm. "Don't you know you're never supposed to ask a lady her age?"

Vilkas chortled and shot back, "Yes, a  _lady._ "

Lisara chuckled at his playful comment before telling him, "I'm twenty-three now."

"So young," he commented.

"I'm sorry, is youth a bad thing? How old are  _you_?"

"Nearly thirty," he admitted.

"Oh dear, you're nearing the end of your days, Vilkas. Whatever will you do?" Lisara teased.

He snickered and once his expression sobered, he pressed, "So why haven't you spoken to your brother in so long?"

Lisara moved her gaze from Vilkas' face to stare into the fire, watching the tips of the amber flames flicker back and forth. Her eyes remained focused on the blaze as she softly responded, "He left home when I was fourteen. I haven't seen him since. I have no idea whether he's alive or dead."

She could feel his eyes on her as she avoided looking back at him. Beside her, he inquired, "And somehow that led you here, to Skyrim?"

Unwilling to say anything more, she nodded and rose to her feet. Vilkas mirrored her action and he loomed over her, taller than anyone else she'd ever known. Here, in this quiet room, standing beside his strong presence, she felt more vulnerable than she ever had before. She looked up at him, gazing into his pale blue irises, and that was when he started to lean down.

He reached up and cradled her cheek with his calloused, warm hands, and when his lips were nearly on hers, the clattering sound of a plate hitting the floor made them both jump. Vilkas dropped his hand and quickly straightened, while Lisara whirled around, trying to find the source of the noise.

A young servant was in the far corner of the room, setting up the tables for the evening meal. When she saw Vilkas and Lisara staring at her, she bowed sheepishly, as if she'd known she'd interrupted them. She continued with her task and Lisara placed a hand on her chest, trying to will her erratic breathing back into a normal pace.

Hesitantly, she turned back around to face Vilkas and he was staring down at her with an unreadable expression. She reached up and smoothed her hair back, mumbling, "So…"

Vilkas cleared his throat again. "So."

Suddenly desperate for space, she pointed at the servant girl and hurriedly said, "I'm going to help them set up for the meal. I'll see you later?"

He barely had time to nod before Lisara spun around, racing over to the girl at the far table. She didn't look back over her shoulder at Vilkas, and winced inwardly at her behavior. Since when was she the type of woman who fawned over attractive men? Sure, his face had stilled her hand that first night, but mostly it had been the memory his words had sparked. He'd reminded her of her brother and it was that, as well as his appearance, that had stopped her from going through with the contract.

Now, things were slightly more complicated, but at the core of things, her reasons for not killing him were still the same.

Over the next hour, she helped the servant set up all of the tables with silverware and plateware, glancing out of the corner of her eye surreptitiously at Vilkas as he puttered around the room. He seemed to be inspecting the Greybeards' items that were laying around the area. Most were books and scrolls that appeared to have been left out and Vilkas read them intently, from what Lisara could see from the other side of the room.

Finally, the priests began to trickle into the room and Arngeir waved Lisara over to the table in the center of the room, adjacent to the fire. She bid the servant girl farewell for now and made her way to where Vilkas sat beside the head priest, climbing onto the bench next to him. He shifted over to make room for her, but there were so many priests sitting at the table that the sides of their thighs still brushed.

She cleared her throat and luckily, that was when the servants brought out the main dishes, placing them in the center of the table. Once they began to eat, Lisara noticed how silent the room was.

Not wanting to offend anyone, Lisara leaned over Vilkas and addressed Arngeir. "Master, is there a reason no one is speaking to each other?"

Arngeir let out an "Ah" as he set down his fork. "There are many of the Greybeards who cannot speak lower than a Shout. It is more difficult for us to learn the Way of the Voice and that is an unfortunate side effect."

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry, I did not mean to pry," Lisara apologized.

A smile spread across Arngeir's face and he replied, "No need to apologize," before he continued eating.

Lisara met Vilkas' gaze briefly as she straightened, but he didn't say anything and so she resumed her meal. The rest of the gathering continued on in silence and after some time, the Greybeards began to file out of the room.

Soon, only Lisara, Vilkas and Arngeir remained. The priest moved to stand and folded his arms inside of his robes again, addressing the duo. "At sunrise, Master Borri will meet you in the courtyard outside. From where we taught you a short while ago, if you turn and head up the stairs to the left, you will find the door to the courtyard. Goodnight Dragonborn, Lisara."

With that, he left the room, leaving Vilkas and Lisara alone once more.

Lisara set down her silverware and pushed her plate out a bit before she turned to Vilkas. The awkward tension between them was driving her crazy. "Vilkas, about earlier—"

He interrupted her with a firm shake of his head and said, "Don't. We'll chalk it up to the heat of the moment; we were both feeling vulnerable. That was all."

Stunned at his vehement reply, she reeled back and closed her mouth with a snap. She'd been ready to say something in return but at the tone of his voice, decided that it might be best if she just didn't say anything at all. Slowly, she clambered out from under the table and handed her plate to the same servant girl who she'd been helping earlier, murmuring a thanks under her breath.

When she turned back to Vilkas, he remained facing forward, his shoulders hunched and tense. Quietly, she questioned, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning?"

"It's  _my_  training. You do not have to be present," he mumbled in response.

Lisara narrowed her eyes at his broad back; his attitude was starting to get on her nerves. "I said I'd come along, didn't I? If you'll be training in the morning, I want to be there."

"Be there or not—doesn't matter to me," he replied in a gruff voice.

"Fine," she spat, whirling around and heading for the stairs.

He didn't say anything in response—or at least, not as far as she could hear—and as she climbed the stairs that led back to the main hall, she muttered, "Grumpy bastard."

She stomped back to her room, shoving the door open as hard as she could when she got there. The door's substantial weight caused it to thud against the back wall, and she winced at the loud noise. With a gentle hand and an apologetic grimace, she shut it behind her and locked it, traipsing over to her bed.

With a huff, she flopped down onto the covers and folded her hands over her stomach, glaring up at the ceiling. Of all the men she was stuck traveling with, and of all the men in Skyrim that could have piqued her curiosity, of course she'd chosen the most infuriating and confusing one of them all.

She rolled over onto her side, watching the shadows from the candle on her nightstand flicker across the walls. Someone must have come and lit them during the meal, so that everyone within High Hrothgar could see where they were going; if it weren't for the candles, the fort would be bathed in utter darkness. Lisara lifted her hand into the air, waving it back and forth as she watched the dusky shapes form around her fingers.

As an assassin, she'd always felt at home in the dark. Sithis was always waiting in the shadows and there was a depth to the silky blackness that simply did not exist in bright sunlight. She watched the penumbra cloak her pale skin in its protection with droopy eyes, and as the flame atop the candle died, the illumination in the room gradually faded.

Soon enough, the room was thrown into complete darkness and she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to StarryNight101 for beta-reading :) Depending on when Nightlain gets to read this, I may be uploading a revised version. Just FYI!
> 
> Thanks to all who left comments, kudos, and to those who subscribed. It means so much to me! See you guys next chapter!


	7. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas learns a bit more from the Greybeards before he and Lisara set out for Ustengrav.

The next morning, Lisara and Vilkas stood outside in High Hrothgar's courtyard, waiting for Master Borri to arrive. Yesterday, Arngeir had said that the other mentor would meet them at first light, but they'd been standing outside for nearly fifteen minutes already and he still had yet to show up.

Lisara shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying in vain to keep her body heat contained. She knew that it would be cold up here—after all, wasn't  _all_  of Skyrim freezing?—but now that she was experiencing the frigid temperatures firsthand, she realized that reality far exceeded any expectation she might've had.

The wind howled as it blew around the peak of the Throat of the World, and round flakes of snow swirled around them in a flurry. A violent shiver wracked her body and she tightened her arms around her small frame. Even the snowflakes didn't get a chance to form their usual beautiful patterns; it was far too cold at this altitude. All they got was clumps of frozen moisture.

_I swear to Talos…If I get frostbite following_ him _around…_

She glanced over at Vilkas, who had remained silent since they'd met up a few minutes ago. She'd tried to start a conversation several times, but all she received back in response were non-descript grunts and mumbled single-word sentences. It seemed like last night had changed things between them and Lisara kicked herself mentally for hoping that the moment had meant something. She missed their banter and the more playful side of Vilkas that she hadn't expected him to have. Now, he was nearly as unfriendly as he had been when they'd first met, which hadn't been  _that_  long ago.

Thank the Nine nothing had actually happened between them. Then how would he be acting?

While she was ruminating over the situation, the door that led inside finally creaked open and they both glanced over to it, spotting Master Borri and Master Arngeir trekking towards them. When the two elders neared, Lisara saw Vilkas straighten beside her and she followed suit, showing the proper amount of respect to them. Though she wasn't learning anything from the Greybeards personally, she recognized that they did indeed command respect, for they were wise in their ways for a reason. The speed at which they'd taught Vilkas his first shout the day prior was clear evidence of that.

Once the two men stood before the duo, Arngeir looked up at Vilkas and wasted no time getting started. Instead of a greeting, he launched directly into the lesson. "Master Borri will be teaching you  _Wuld_ , which means Whirlwind. It is a completely new shout and I am curious to see how you learn something entirely unfamiliar to you."

Vilkas nodded and looked at Master Borri, who was slowly backpedaling to the edge of the stone clearing. The Greybeard held out his arm and in a voice slightly quieter than Vilkas' shouts, said, " _Wuld_ ," causing a slight gust of air to shoot past them. The sudden wind ruffled the ends of their hair and when the breeze faded, characters appeared in the ground again, just as they did the day before. Vilkas stared at them intently for a few seconds until he nodded in understanding. When he looked back up at Borri, iridescent streams of power traveled from the elder to Vilkas. They were identical to the ones that had transferred from Einarth when they'd taught Vilkas the second word of Unrelenting Force. Vilkas inhaled as he absorbed the flood of energy and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his pale irises were alight with determination.

Arngeir gestured to two stone columns that lay on the other end of the clearing and said, "Now we shall see how well you master a completely new shout."

Vilkas nodded and headed over to the columns, and Lisara trailed after him in silence. Though she didn't say anything, inside, she was burning with curiosity about this whole Dragonborn business. What did it feel like to shout? How did the power coursing within his veins affect his strength? With the way things ended between them yesterday, she hesitated to be the first one to speak-especially with a question that was rather personal. Besides that, she didn't wish to break his concentration. Perhaps afterward, there'd be a chance for her to question him.

When the group reached the columns, they all came to a halt. Arngeir, along with another elder, stepped forward, while Borri continued on to stand farther off by another pair of taller stone columns.

Arngeir faced Vilkas and gestured to the elder beside him, stating, "Master Wolfgar will demonstrate how Whirlwind Sprint works. Then, it will be your turn."

Ahead of them and behind Borri stood a pair of closed iron gates. The gates were comprised of a strange pattern: rods of iron ran through the center in diagonal lines, seemingly without order. It reminded Lisara of a spider's web, and she wondered if there was any significance to them.

Master Borri looked to Arngeir for confirmation and when the head elder nodded, Borri opened the gates. Without warning, Wolfgar shouted three words of power in rapid succession and shot forward, seemingly leaping across the entire clearing in only a second or two. Lisara only caught the first word,  _Wuld_ , because she'd just heard Arngeir say it. Otherwise, she would've been completely lost. It seemed as if Vilkas was equally as wary, because his gaze was concentrated on Wolfgar in the far distance, his eyes narrowed.

"Now it is your turn," Arngeir instructed, and Vilkas stepped forward as the gates before them closed. "Master Borri will open the gates, and you will use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through them before they close once more."

Vilkas nodded to signify his understanding and Arngeir signaled to Borri. When the gates opened, Vilkas crouched slightly and shouted, "Wuld!"

He shot forward and the resulting tailwind flew up into Lisara's face. She threw her arm up, shielded her eyes from the gust and once it had faded, she opened her eyes and saw Vilkas on the opposite side of the clearing, standing beside Wolfgar. He had a wide, delighted grin on his face and she shook her head at his childlike excitement.

A few seconds later, he ran back over to join them and Arngeir, with wonder in his voice, said, "Your ability to master new shouts in little to no time is...astounding. I'd heard of the Dragonborn's natural ability, but to see it for myself is…"

Vilkas' gaze dropped to the ground for a second and Lisara saw his face contort briefly, before he looked back up at Arngeir with a neutral expression. "I'm not sure how I do it. It just...happens."

The elder nodded and replied, "And that is why it is so incredible. With this shout, you are now ready for your last trial. We ask that you retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder. The horn can be found in his tomb, in Ustengrav. Remember, remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return to us in no time."

Vilkas bowed slightly and the handful of Greybeards walked away, towards the entrance to High Hrothgar. He watched them go and Lisara took the opportunity to observe him as he remained facing away from her. His face was still schooled into a pensive expression, and she lamented the fact that he was so good at keeping his emotions contained. It seemed as if her emotions were always visible to others; they controlled her actions and dictated her view of every situation. Clearly, how they'd come to be traveling together was the perfect example of that.

She had to admit that she was somewhat jealous of his self-control.

Eventually, he faced her and she looked up into his eyes, expecting him to say something. When a few seconds had passed and he still remained silent, she raised an eyebrow at him and prompted, "Yes?"

He grunted and asked, "I assume you're coming with me, then? To Ustengrav?"

A sly smile spread out across her face and she teased, "Trying to get rid of me already?"

That earned her an eye-roll. "No, I was just asking. I'm assuming Ustengrav isn't going to be easy to get through. There are likely to be draugr and various trials that are meant to test me. Perhaps it would be safer for you to stay here."

Lisara scoffed and brushed past him, heading for the door. "Please, Vilkas. I'm not a maiden who needs saving or protecting; I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, as I've shown you on multiple occasions. Stop trying to treat me like a fragile little flower. I'm coming with you, even if you don't want me to."

From behind her, she heard him let out a short sigh. She pushed open the door and his sudden presence at her back caught her off guard. She could feel the waves of heat rolling off of him and as they swept over her, she tensed and quickly sidestepped, letting him past through the doorway first. The high-temperature of his body heat—was he always that warm?—evoked a memory of the night before, when he'd been standing over her and leaning down to...to do what? To kiss her? She'd never actually asked him if that was what had been happening for certain, though it had seemed as if that was the likeliest outcome. He'd been so close to her that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin, and she was bothered by the fact that she was already so comforted by his warmth.

At her abrupt stop, he glanced back at her and held up his hands. "Why are you just standing there?"

Dismissively, she shook her head and started walking towards their rooms. "No reason, sorry. Just got distracted with my thoughts. I'll grab my things and meet you at the door," she replied and sped off without waiting for his response.

_Stay focused, Lisara! You're acting like a smitten schoolgirl_ , she reprimanded herself.

Quickly, she rushed into the room she'd stayed in and stuffed her belongings into her pack. It didn't take her long to gather all of her things and with a final, tight cinch of the drawstrings, she slung it over her shoulder and stepped back out into the hall. She made her way to the door and spotted Master Arngeir, standing beside the exit, with his hands folded inside of his robe's sleeves.

He watched her approach and when she stood in front of him, he stated, "Your horses have been fed and cared for, and we've given you as many supplies as we could spare for your trip."

Lisara inclined her head in a bow and said, "Thank you, Master Arngeir. Is Vilkas already outside?"

He nodded in confirmation and she bowed again before pushing the door open and stepping back out into the blinding sunlight. She made her way down the steps and spotted Vilkas at the base of the staircase, securing his pack to his mount. Once she'd hopped off the last step and stood beside him, he glanced up at her and reached his hand out, to which she quirked her eyebrow in a silent question.

When she didn't move or respond, he sighed and insisted, "Give me your pack, Lisara. You're incredibly slow at tying it onto his saddle."

She rolled her eyes and lifted her heavy bag off of her shoulder, handing it over to him. "I'm surprised that you're willing to stand that close to Shadowmere, when only yesterday you were terrified of him."

Vilkas scoffed as he approached her stallion. "I wasn't  _terrified_ , I was wary. There's quite a large difference between the two."

"Mmhm," she replied, the corners of her lips curling upwards in a teasing smile.

He didn't say anything in response and pulled the final cord tight, before looping it through the ring on Shadowmere's saddle one last time. Lisara sidled up to him and he held out his hand again, offering to help her up. She let out a chuckle and said, "I can climb onto my horse all by myself, Vilkas. But thank you."

With a grunt, he made his way over to his own mount and with quick, familiar movements, was settled in his saddle in no time. Lisara mirrored his actions and patted Shadowmere's neck affectionately in greeting. She faced Vilkas and called out, "I hope you know how to get to Ustengrav, because I sure don't."

Vilkas rolled his eyes and sighed. "Remind me why you're coming along again, if you're not of any use?"

His mount broke out into a trot and as Lisara followed after him, she teased, "And here I thought you were being  _such_  a gentleman this morning."

That earned her a low chuckle and she decided to consider that a victory, seeing how Vilkas didn't seem like the type to succumb to a full-bellied laugh. With him leading the way, they trekked back down the long, winding mountain path, and headed for Ustengrav.

* * *

**_The next day_.**

 

The journey was taking far longer than Lisara had anticipated.

When they'd first set out, she asked Vilkas when they'd get there and he gave her a wry look as he deadpanned, "In a couple of days."

Apparently, Ustengrav was not mere hours away—no, of course things were never that easy. It was slightly farther north than Morthal, which was about a day and a half's ride from High Hrothgar. If the monastery hadn't been so far up the mountain, they might've been able to shave off a few hours. Sadly, that obviously wasn't the case and they were just barely outside of the city, beginning their descent towards the coastline.

Morthal was located inside of a bay that was littered with broken, disjointed pieces of land. The city was small and relatively nondescript, though it favored the common wooden houses that were so prominent in Nordic architecture. Because the city was so far north, the roofs of every building within the limits were nearly always coated in a light layer of snow. Though the wind that drifted through her hair was chilly, it was nothing in comparison to the cold, biting air of the Throat of the World. Lisara never thought this would be possible, but she'd almost say that she was getting used to the extremely low temperatures of Skyrim.

The land below them began to slope downward, and Lisara spotted the snow-capped roofs of the buildings in the distance. Their horses' hooves clacked against the stone bridge that led into the city, and once they were across, Vilkas pointed at a tall, two-story building ahead of them. "That's the inn up there. I vote we stay the night and then head out for Ustengrav in the morning."

Lisara nodded. "Sounds good to me. I'm surprised you don't want to just make camp outside of Ustengrav and save us the travel time."

He glanced back over his shoulder at her and explained, "That would save time, yes. But I want to be fully rested before we trek through the crypt. If one of us has to keep watch all night, and we end up on edge the entire time, we won't be at our best and that's something I don't want to risk."

"Fair enough."

Thus far, that was probably the longest sentence that Vilkas had said to her since that night in High Hrothgar's dining hall. They'd spoken intermittently over the past day or so since they'd left the Greybeards, but he was by no means talkative. Most of their time riding had been spent in silence as they concentrated on getting to Morthal as quickly as possible.

The Greybeards hadn't given them a time limit, but Vilkas was apparently the sort of person who didn't lollygag. If he was given an objective, he got it done; he didn't wait for any reason. In contrast, Lisara was not nearly as gung-ho about getting things done immediately. To be fair, it wasn't like she procrastinated or purposefully took her time. It was just that she understood that some contracts dictated their timeframe. If she rushed things when they weren't meant to be rushed, it could ruin the entire plan she'd put into place.

Vilkas wasn't rash by any means, but he most definitely did things with the end goal in mind, at all times.

When they reached the inn, they dismounted and tied their horses to the post. Vilkas worked on removing their packs from the saddles and Lisara looked up at the establishment as it towered above them. The rickety, wooden sign hanging above the entrance read "Moorside Inn", and it swung back and forth in the breeze, creaking slightly. 'Moorside Inn' was an apt title, because most of Morthal rested above the water. The city was coastal, and though the bay was difficult to navigate because of the intermittent pieces of land, many people docked at the pier on the edge of town. Lisara could hear the water lapping at the wooden posts that supported the decks above the surface.

Once the horses were secured and Vilkas had their packs slung over his shoulders, they headed up the steps. With a not-so gentle push, the main door opened and revealed the somewhat desolate dining hall of the inn. Morthal wasn't a very popular city of choice when it came to retreats, so the hall was rather empty at the moment. Only two other patrons sat in the far corner of the room, and a single lute player was sitting by the fireplace, strumming random chords to fill the silence.

The barmaid noticed their entrance and set down the rag she was using to wiping the counter. In only a few quick strides, she came around the bar and crossed the room, placing her hands on her hips once she stood before the duo.

"Are you wanting to rent a room?" she asked, her tone not quite impolite, but neither was it welcoming.

Vilkas cleared his throat and nodded as he said, "Yes, for just one night."

"Alright. Follow me," the barmaid instructed, before she spun on her heel and made her way to the other side of the room where a set of stairs led the way to where Lisara assumed the rooms were.

They followed after her in silence, and Lisara could feel the eyes of the other two guests on their backs as they crossed the space. Once they were upstairs and out of sight of the lower level, she let out a relieved breath and Vilkas looked back at her, a silent question on his face. She shook her head in response and he shrugged.

The barmaid—which obviously if she was bringing guests to their rooms, she was doing much more than just running the bar—led them to the third door on their left, pushing it open to show them the interior of the room. There was a single bed in the center of the room, pushed back against the wall; it looked like it only only hold one, maybe two skinny people at the most. There was a washbasin beside it, and a nightstand on the opposite side. That was...about it.

"This is the only room we have available. It's a bit tight, but it'll work for you two, eh?" she commented with a wink.

They both sputtered in denial and Vilkas was faster than Lisara at recovering. He glared at the barmaid and said, "The bed is barely big enough to fit me! Where in Talos' name is she supposed to sleep?"

"Well, on the bed, with  _you_ ," the barmaid replied nonsensically.

"We're not...This isn't—" Vilkas stuttered as he tried to explain their situation.

Lisara piped up and gave it a try, in an attempt to spare Vilkas the awkwardness. "We're not... _together_  or anything...We'd prefer separate rooms, if you have another one available?"

"Nope, sorry. This is it," the other woman stated with finality in her tone.

"Then what are these other doors?" Vilkas demanded.

"Those two are taken; the one across the hall is mine. I live here too, you know. I really do mean that's our  _only_  available room." After her statement, the barmaid-slash-owner turned and headed back downstairs. Before she disappeared from their view, they heard her mutter, "We're not The Winkin' Skeever, y'know."

Silence filled the hall in her absence and Lisara glanced at up Vilkas, only to see that he kept his eyes trained on the staircase. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was set into a firm frown. Deciding not to bother him just yet, she faced the room again and peeked inside, grimacing once more when she noted the size.

"Well. I can sleep on the floor?" she offered in an attempt to make light of the situation, which elicited a scoff from him.

"No, you're not sleeping on the floor," he rebutted, turning around to look into the room as well. "I will."

"Is this some nonsense about me being a woman, and that I shouldn't ever have to sleep on the floor?" she lightly teased. From what she'd seen of him over the past few days, he seemed to be more of a gentleman than he wished to let on.

"Something like that," he mumbled as he walked into the room and set his pack down against the wall.

"You really don't have to take the floor, Vilkas. I'm fine with it; that's what bedrolls are for," Lisara insisted.

"I'm taking the floor," he stated firmly, finally meeting her gaze.

They stared into each other's eyes, and Lisara could see that it clicked for Vilkas at the same time that it did for her: this was the first time they'd be alone together—behind closed doors nonetheless. She swallowed down the nervous lump in her throat and he cleared his throat before turning away and subsequently rummaging through his pack.

After watching him for a few seconds, she set her pack down on the bed and began to pull her nightclothes out. If he really insisted that she take the bed, she realized it would probably just irritate him if she continued to fight him on that decision.

Timidly, she called out to him, "I, um, I'm going to change now. Stay facing that way until I say, okay?"

His shoulders tensed and he grunted in response, to which Lisara asked, "Is that a yes?"

"Aye. Change already," he grumbled.

Lisara mumbled her thanks and strode over to the door, shutting it quickly before she walked back over to the bed. With movements as familiar to her as breathing, she yanked off her boots and unbuckled the belts holding her weapons around her thighs. She set them aside, next to her boots and reached around her side, to tug at the seam that kept her uniform together. Inside of the seam, lay a row of eyelet hooks that she now undid, and her uniform began to separate. One of the advantages of this closure was that it allowed her armor to be skin-tight, without buttons or exterior hooks getting in the way; they were all hidden beneath the flap of fabric.

Once she had most of it undone, she pulled her armor away from her chest and removed her arms from her sleeves. With a quick push, the entire thing was off and she hurriedly grabbed her loose-fitting pants and linen sleeping shirt. When she finally tugged the hem of her shirt completely down, she said, "Okay, I'm done."

Vilkas turned with his bedroll in hand and she saw his eyes flicker over her entire body before he looked away. She wasn't sure whether she liked the attention or whether it made her uncomfortable. Sure, when she'd been straddling his firm, masculine hips, she'd  _definitely_  admired the view...but it was weird to think about him doing the same to  _her_. Perhaps it just seemed ludicrous to her that someone as stoic and intense as Vilkas would be doing something as suggestive and forward as admiring her body.

Without a word, he unfurled his bedroll and laid it on the cold, stone floor, proceeding to smooth out the bumps. For whatever reason, his silence made Lisara nervous and she twirled the ends of her braid in her fingers as she watched him.

"Are you going to change?" she asked.

"No. I always sleep in full armor," he replied, still without looking back at her.

Unbidden, the image of him lying naked beneath his fur pelts at Jorrvaskr flashed into her mind. A coy smile spread out across her face and she commented, "Not  _always_."

At the suggestive tone in her voice, he paused and looked up at her, surprise coloring his expression. "I…" he trailed off.

She blushed as she realized what she'd said out loud, and in an attempt to cover up her accidental divulgence, waved her hand at him and said, "I was kidding. You're really alright with me taking the bed?"

He cleared his throat again and nodded, so she climbed under the covers, pulling them up to her chin once she was settled. Knowing that there was no way she could fall asleep while he was still up and puttering about the room, she asked, "Are you going to sleep soon, too?"

"Aye," Vilkas replied as he bent over and blew out the single candle illuminating the room.

Lisara heard him getting under the bedroll's covers and then silence settled in. Now that the room was dark, she was hyper-aware of the fact that he was lying down only a foot or so away from her. It was as if the darkness amplified the tension between them and the air felt charged with electricity.

_How in the world am I supposed to get any sleep_ now _?_

Out of nowhere, his rich baritone broke the silence. "Goodnight, Lisara."

His unexpected nicety startled her and she twitched slightly in bed. After a second, she recovered and replied, "Goodnight, Vilkas."

* * *

Lisara tossed and turned all night, unable to completely relax and fall into a true, deep sleep. When she could see the pale hint of the sun's rays peeking up over the mountains outside the window, she finally drifted off. What felt like only minutes later, she woke to Vilkas shaking her awake. She shot upright in bed and he narrowly avoided being clobbered in the chin with her forehead. Luckily for him, he'd dove backwards just in time.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. We should get going," Vilkas suggested.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to work the exhaustion from her heavy lids. "Right...give me a second?"

He nodded and slung his pack over his shoulder, opening the door. "I'll meet you downstairs," he replied, closing the door behind him.

A long sigh escaped her and she blinked rapidly a few times before she swung her legs over the side of the bed. When the soles of her feet touched the freezing stone below, she cringed and retracted them, leaning over the edge of the bed for her boots. After shoving her feet into them and standing, she shed her nightclothes—pulling her pants off over her boots was quite the challenge, but anything was better than frozen feet—and shoved them into her pack.

Quickly, she donned her armor again and rebraided her hair, heading over to the washbasin to wash her face. She dipped a tentative finger into the bowl and winced at the sharp sting of the cold water. Taking a deep breath, she hastily splashed her face with a cupped handful of liquid and when the water hit her skin, she shook her head from side to side to dispel the glacial moisture.

Once she'd dried her cheeks off with her forearm, she hoisted her pack up onto her back and headed out the door. The chatter of patrons in the dining hall drifted up to her ears and she trekked down the stairs, hopping slightly as she made her way down. When she was standing at the base of the steps, she saw Vilkas raise his hand from the little nook off in the far corner of the room, the one where they'd seen the other two guests on their way in last night. The room was far more populated than it had been when they'd arrived, and she guessed that townsfolk likely came here for meals during the day. Sometimes, sharing a meal with your neighbor, pint in hand and a warm fireplace nearby, beat eating alone at home—she could definitely understand that.

She crossed the room and sat down on the stool beside him, tucking her pack underneath the table. After she faced him, she asked, "Breakfast?"

"Mmm. Can't head out and fight without sustenance, right?" he replied.

Lisara made a sound of agreement and that was when the same barmaid—or perhaps also the owner of the inn—from yesterday appeared, two plates in hand. She set them down and walked off without a word, and Lisara raised an eyebrow at her anti-social behavior. Vilkas must've noticed her expression because he chuckled under his breath and said, "She was rather unfriendly when I ordered, too. We must've earned her ire after last night."

"Apparently," she mumbled, finally looking down at her food. "Ordered me some eggs, did you?"

"Don't tell me you don't like eggs," he sighed in exasperation.

"No, no, I do. I just thought it was sweet that you ordered without asking me," she quipped.

"We're in a hurry," he grunted before wolfing down his food.

A smile teased at the corners of her lips and, choosing not to start off the day on the wrong foot by pointing out his gesture again, she followed his example and quickly scarfed down her eggs. Ten minutes later, they were finished and Vilkas placed a few coins on the table before rising to his feet. She slung her bag over her shoulder again and followed her companion out the door.

In silence, though it wasn't necessarily awkward, she handed her bag over to him again and he secured both of them to their mounts' saddles. She climbed up onto Shadowmere's saddle, adjusting herself as she fisted the reins. He mirrored her action and nudged his mount forward, and not long after, they were leaving Morthal behind.

It would only take an hour or so to reach Ustengrav and they traveled quickly, pushing their steeds to their limits. In no time at all, the slightly raised mound that marked the tomb's location loomed before them on the horizon. They slowed their pace as they neared and eventually, Vilkas held up his hand to indicate that they were stopping. Lisara pulled back on Shadowmere's reins and her trusty stallion acquiesced, coming to a halt as a cloud of dust rose up behind them.

The two of them dismounted and left their packs tied to their horses' saddles; full packs were entirely too cumbersome and Lisara had forgotten to remind Vilkas about the dragon bones in her bag. As a result, he hadn't sold any of them, and her bag was still ridiculously heavy—she wasn't about to heave that thing through a tomb filled to the brim with draugr.

He led the way down the rickety wooden stairs and into the open-ceiling alcove. Once they were standing in front of the elaborate stone door, Lisara checked that she had her daggers and a few health potion vials tucked into her pockets. Vilkas glanced down at her for confirmation and she nodded that she was ready.

After patting his own pockets and briefly wrapping his fingers around the leather-wrapped handle of the massive sword slung over his back—as if he were reassuring himself that it was indeed still there—he reached out and pushed open the tomb's heavy door.

"Let's get this over with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to StarryNight101 and Nightlain for beta-reading.
> 
> Thanks to all for the comments! See you guys next chapter :)


	8. Ustengrav

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisara and Vilkas make their way through Ustengrav. What awaits them at the end is both a disappointment and a revelation.

Bile crept up Lisara's throat as the stench of decay and rotting flesh hit her nostrils like a wave of death. She covered her mouth and forced herself to swallow it back down, not wanting to be sick in front of Vilkas. This was her first time in a crypt and, if she had to be honest, she rather thought she deserved a pardon for being queasy. She didn't want to appear weak, though, so suppressing the urge to lose her lunch was her best bet.

Not even two steps into the crypt, Vilkas looked back at her as if he'd been waiting for the first sign of her stomach to turn. The corner of his mouth curled upward in a wry smirk, and he teased, "Feeling sick, are we?"

Lisara uncovered her mouth and nose to retort with a witty comment, but the horrific scent swept in again, making her gag once more. Vilkas chuckled and advised, "Breath through your mouth; it might help. You'll get used to it soon enough."

"That doesn't help nearly as much as you were hoping it would, Vilkas," she muttered behind her fingers, eliciting another laugh from the burly warrior.

He took point, leading her farther into the crypt, sweeping aside cobwebs as they progressed. Under their boots, the crunch of old bones echoed around them, and Lisara shivered—though whether it was solely due to the chill seeping from the stones, or also from the eerie atmosphere, she couldn't say.

Eventually, the hallway widened and farther down the way, the open main room of the crypt could be seen. Vilkas instinctively reached over his shoulder to grasp the leather-wrapped handle of his sword. Following his example, Lisara lowered her hand to rest on the hilt of her dagger, though her nose remained scrunched up in disgust.

They crept forward and Vilkas nudged an errant bone with the toe of his boot, causing them both to tense and whip around to face the direction of the sound. When they didn't spot anything, Vilkas glanced down and scoffed at himself before continuing forward. She tried to stay silent and hold in her laughter, but a giggle escaped her lips and he glared at her over his shoulder before continuing on.

Up ahead, the form of a human body lay hidden in the shadows—though it didn't appear to be moving—and Vilkas held up his hand, calling for her to stop. Lisara unsheathed her daggers while Vilkas held his sword at the ready, and they inched forward, tense with anticipation. When they finally reached the body, Vilkas lowered his sword and lightly jabbed the sharpened tip of his blade into the person's thigh, immediately drawing it back in case they reacted.

When the body remained immobile, Lisara piped up and commented, "I think they're dead."

Vilkas rolled his eyes at her obvious statement, and crouched beside the body, reaching out to shove it once more. It still didn't move and finally, he nodded in agreement. "Aye, he's dead. Suppose he won't be needing his supplies, then," he remarked, before he started sifting through the dead man's pockets.

Lisara sighed impatiently and, after placing her daggers back in their rightful places at her thighs, crossed her arms while she looked around at their surroundings. Crypts weren't exactly known for being aesthetically pleasing or welcoming, and she shied away from the nearby rock wall, avoiding the clammy moisture that ran down the cragged face. When she shifted her gaze to the chamber ahead, out of the corner of her eye, the slight shift of something moving caused her to immediately fall into a crouch behind Vilkas.

Reflexively, he reached for his sword and tensed, positioning his body to face the entrance to the chamber. "What is it?"

"I thought I saw something—over there, behind the rocks," she whispered, pointing over his shoulder at the center of the room, where two jagged, skinny pillars protruded from the floor.

He followed her gaze and they remained completely still, waiting with bated breath for something—anything—to move.

They didn't have to wait long, for less than a minute later, a figure in a black cloak ambled out from behind the rock, wandering aimlessly in circles around the room. A few seconds later, a second figure emerged and the two strangers paused face-to-face, seemingly conversing with one another.

Vilkas' hand tightened around the hilt of his sword and he slowly crept forward, prompting Lisara to follow with a silent jerk of his head. She nodded, pulling her hood up and activating the shrouded enchantment of her armor. The enchantment gave her an added advantage over her enemies, allowing her to remain hidden in the shadows and keeping her footsteps silent.

However, she was surprised to find that Vilkas was just as silent as she was. He didn't seem overly fond of magic in general, removing the possibility of enchantments on his own armor. Considering he wore heavy, plated armor, he should've been making more noise than he was.

When he gestured for her to go around the other side of the first pillar, allowing them to flank their enemies, Lisara figured she'd shelve the information and simply ask him later. He disappeared around the other side of the rock, and she unsheathed her daggers once more, silently shuffling toward the cloaked figure that was closest to her.

When she was finally behind the figure, she shot to her feet, using the momentum to reach up and hook her arm around the man's neck. She yanked him down and in one smooth motion, dragged the sharpened edge of her dagger across his throat. Immediately, he gasped at the loss of air, and blood sprayed onto his companion's shocked face.

From behind the other man, Vilkas charged forward with a vicious battle cry, shoving his blade through the man's torso. When the tip of Vilkas' sword emerged through the man's chest, he sputtered in surprise before Vilkas yanked his blade back out, causing the man to crumple to the floor, dead.

Lisara wiped her blade on the now dead man's cloak and after resheathing her daggers, she raised her eyebrow at Vilkas and asked, "Was that really necessary?"

"What? Killing the man?"

"No, the incredibly loud, incredibly  _Nordic_  battlecry. We're in a cavern, for Talos' sake. Everything in here probably heard you," she reprimanded, rising to her feet.

His face scrunched up in annoyance as he placed his greatsword on his back again. "I could ask  _you_ the same thing. Slitting a man's throat is rather unnecessarily messy, don't you think?"

"At least he was silent."

Without responding, Vilkas walked away, heading for the other side of the cavern. Lisara rolled her eyes at his behavior before following after him. The chamber's exit was rather obvious: there was only one tunnel leading out of the room, flanked on either side by torches that had already been lit. However, instead of heading for the exit, Vilkas wandered over to the right, where a small pile of barrels and crates sat.

"Lovely," Lisara muttered under her breath. "More supplies to lug around."

"It's thanks to my searching for supplies that we don't go hungry, lass. You should be thanking me."

"Yes, thank you Master Vilkas, for keeping my belly full and my body oh-so safe."

Picking up on the dramatic, cloying tone in her voice, Vilkas turned around and Lisara batted her eyelashes up at him, ever the picture of pure innocence. Annoyed, he let out a loud whoosh of air before holding a red bottle out to her. "Health potion."

"Yes,  _I know_ what this is. I'm assuming you want  _me_  to carry it?"

"Aye, I do."

With a grumble, Lisara swung her pack off her shoulders, stuffing the bottle inside. "Anything  _else_?"

He turned to look back at the boxes, but just before he was completely facing away from her, Lisara thought she saw the corner of his mouth quirk upwards in amusement.

_Oh this bloody bastard...he's_ enjoying  _this, is he?_

Lisara opened her mouth to say something snide to Vilkas, when he turned back around, holding a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese in his hand. She closed her mouth with a snap but didn't take them, and he raised the food in his hand again, indicating that he was waiting for her to stuff them into her bag. With an irritated sigh, she snatched them out of his hand, shoving them into the pack as well.

"All right, my back is going to break if you make me carry anything else. Can we move on, now? So that I can breathe again sometime soon?" she prompted.

He shook his head at her, a miniscule grin on his face. With his hand resting on the handle of the small dirk hanging from his hip—and looking like he was taking a leisurely stroll through the crypt, not on an all-important quest—he brushed past her, heading for the tunnel.

With resignation, she followed after him once again. After they walked through the tunnel's entrance, the pair made their way towards a short flight of stone steps. There was a corpse draped over the top of the stairs, and another, lying face-down at the base. Lisara knelt and brushed her fingers along the spattering of blood that lay underneath the body. She drew her eyebrows together and looked up at Vilkas, concerned. "It's still warm."

He narrowed his eyes, mirroring her apprehension. Hastily, but no less quietly, they hurried down the steps. After the tunnel leveled out, it stretched ahead of them before curving around to the left. Before they turned around the corner, Vilkas pulled out his dirk, probably hoping it would offer him the advantage over his greatsword in tighter spaces.

They'd only taken one step around the corner before Vilkas jerked backwards, colliding with Lisara. Trying not to make too much noise, she yelped behind closed lips, glaring up at him when he glanced behind at her. In a frantic motion, he pressed his finger to his lips, then peeked around the stone wall.

Though she couldn't see, she could hear plenty going on around the bend. Clanking armor and the dry shuffle of feet echoed around them; she thought she heard slight moans as well, but that seemed oddly out of place, considering their surroundings. The sharp clang of metal against metal rang out, and not long after, they heard the shrill cry of a man in his last moments of life. Vilkas held up his dagger in reflex, prompting Lisara to do the same with hers. Not a second later, he sprinted around the corner and she rushed after him, daggers raised and ready.

What met her on the other side was unlike anything she'd ever seen. The shock caused her to stumble over the corpse at her feet, and she almost dropped her weapons in surprise. A skeleton, with dried flesh hanging from its bones, stood before her. Its eye sockets should've been empty but instead, a flickering, unnatural blue glow was emanating from the hollow depths. It raised its hefty sword above its head and opened its mouth, as if to yell something in their direction. A strong gust of air blew past them, causing her hair to billow up around her.

"What in—" she gasped, frozen in place.

Vilkas swore under his breath and hurried to sheath his dirk, reaching for the greatsword on his back. The skeleton stepped forward, gaining speed as it approached them, and Vilkas quickly backstepped. In an incredibly close call, he managed to get his sword in hand and parried the skeleton's blow just before it would've cleaved him in two.

"Lisara! Snap out of it!" Vilkas demanded as he swung his sword at the skeleton, separating its sword arm from its body.

The slight panic in the warrior's voice pulled her from her daze, and she promptly pulled her daggers from her thighs, gripping them tightly in her hands. Vilkas' opponent apparently had a friend, and the second skeleton emerged from the archway that led farther down the tunnel.

Though the unnaturally animated creature made her heart stutter in her chest, she clenched her jaw in determination. She was an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, by Talos, and she wasn't going to force Vilkas to handle the situation entirely on his own. She was more than capable of taking care of herself.

The skeleton heaved its sword at her in a horizontal swipe, and she ducked just in time to feel the whoosh of air that tickled the hairs on her neck. It stepped forward with its right leg, and Lisara feinted to  _her_ right, swiping up and to the side with her dagger. Even though the skeleton was obviously dead, it apparently still felt pain—it let out a howl and fell back, clutching at its thigh. She took advantage of the opening and jumped up, plunging her other dagger into its chest, where its heart once was.

With a second shriek, it clattered to the ground, its eyes now devoid of any abnormal glow. Her chest heaved with every breath, and when it didn't get back up after a few seconds, she assumed it was well and truly dead—again. She turned back to check on Vilkas. The perfect picture of calm, he was standing with his hands resting on the hilt of his sword, which he'd jabbed into the dirt between the stones underneath their feet.

She sighed and sheathed her daggers. "Did you even  _need_  help?"

He shrugged and grasped his sword, swinging it up and over his back into its sheath. "No, not particularly. But if you don't get used to the sight of draugr now, the rest of our time here isn't going to be pleasant for you."

He'd been right about the remainder of their time there being unpleasant.

Over the next hour or so, they trudged deeper into the crypt, facing draugr after draugr at every turn. After climbing and descending what felt like a million sets of stairs—she was also forced to stash more potions—they finally came to a door. Oddly enough, like the tunnel entrance, the torches flanking the door were already lit.

The flames cast a dull reflection on the door, and the undulating ribbons of brightness seemed to shimmer on the surface. Lisara reached out to touch it in awe. "It's almost as if it's made out of...metal."

From behind her, Vilkas said, "It probably is. Nords of old were odd when it came to things like this."

On the other side,  _another_ flight of steps awaited them. The air in the second half of the crypt seemed to be even colder than the first, and once again, Lisara shivered. Vilkas glanced over at her and asked, "Do you want my pelt?"

"Sorry?"

"My  _pelt_. You keep shivering; I forget you're not used to Skyrim's climate. Here, I'm not using it right now, anyway." He undid his belt, unwrapping the furry pelt from his waist before handing it over to Lisara.

She hesitated for a second, prompting him to shove it in her direction. "Just take it," he insisted, shoving his dirk into his waistband.

The soft, downy fur of the pelt held traces of his body heat, and she spread her fingers through the fine strands, relishing in the comforting warmth. "Thank you," she muttered, draping it over her shoulders. Once she had it settled, he held out his belt for her and she took it, cinching it around her waist to keep the pelt in place.

"Ready?" Vilkas prompted.

She nodded and they descended the steps, heading farther into the sepulcher. When they reached the bottom of the steps, she noticed a banner fluttering in the breeze. The reason it had caught her attention, was the fact that it was fluttering in the first place. Since they were farther into the cave, there should've been  _less_  breeze than up above. Glancing to her right, she spotted the twisted vines of vegetation draped over an opening in the wall. Slowly, she made her way over to the "window" of sorts, surprised to see that the space beyond was open and wide. A soft, diffused blue glow emanated from the expanse and she tilted her head in confusion.

"Come on," Vilkas directed from behind her. "Let's get this horn and be done with this place."

They continued on down another flight of stairs and after coming around the bend, the path split into two different directions. To their left was a brightly lit stone tunnel—not unlike the part of the crypt they'd already been through. To their right was that same blue glow that she'd seen only a few moments before.

"Hold on," Lisara requested, wandering off to inspect the area.

The path dropped off ahead suddenly, and she paused at the small rock barrier, peering over the edge. It was as if they'd stumbled upon a cavern within a cavern; the ceiling stretched up above them and across the wide chasm, tall stone pillars rose from the base of the cavern, melding with the rock above. From her left, she heard a shout, the tell-tale clash of swords meeting, and then a satisfied grunt from Vilkas. Hopping down a small staircase, she rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Vilkas, who was standing over a draugr.

"What happened?" she questioned.

"They don't exactly wait for you to finish sightseeing. Are you quite done?"

With a roll of her eyes, she nodded and they were off once more. Over stone bridges, through more tunnels, draugr here, draugr there; finally, they came to an opening that led into the chasm they'd seen from up above. Colossal pine trees rose up high into the air, and once they'd made their way down a steep ramp, the sound of dirt shifting under their boots met her ears instead of the echo of sole against stone.

"This is so bizarre."

Vilkas agreed with a nod and mumbled, "Aye. You think you've seen it all…"

"I thought you  _had_ seen it all."

"I said I'd  _killed_ one of everything in Skyrim. Not that I'd seen everything."

"Oh, completely different, to be sure," she mocked.

He scoffed, and they made their way up another dirt ramp. At the top, a stone clearing stood before them—a ring of rocks surrounding the center of the alcove. As if the tangible evidence of progress spurred him on, Vilkas strode forward with renewed purpose, heading straight for the center of the stones.

Panic lanced through Lisara and she shot forward, tugging him back by his shirt. "Wait!"

"What in Talos' name, woman!" he exclaimed.

"You can't just saunter through the center of the stones, Vilkas! Haven't you ever seen anyone die that way?"

He stared at her for a few seconds, dumbfounded, before he murmured, "...Are you being serious?"

"Yes, I'm being serious! Go around."

Exasperated, he placed his hands on his hips. Equally as defiant, Lisara crossed her arms and glared up at him, intent on winning this particular disagreement. She wasn't about to let him waltz into the center of the room and be shot by a poisoned arrow, or something of the sort. Finally, he gave in with a sigh, heading around the outer edge of the circle of stones instead.

He was passing the second stone on the right when the loud sound of metal scraping against rock reverberated around them. Lisara tensed, and Vilkas immediately rolled to the side, straightening with his dirk in his hand. Turns out, it was just the gate opening on the other side of the room. They both breathed a sigh of relief and made their way to the opening, pausing at the entrance. On the other end of the tunnel, the second gate opened as the first fell shut again.

Vilkas crossed his arms over his chest as he stared intently down the tunnel. "Well, this poses a problem."

Lisara let out a dry laugh and said, "A problem to  _you_  is what the rest of us call an impossible obstacle."

They stood there, side-by-side, as they pondered how to get past the alternating gates. After a few minutes, in a quiet voice, Vilkas said, "I can get through using that new shout I learned before we left."

"That you can, but what about me? I doubt you can drag me along with you at that speed."

"Aye, perhaps not." Vilkas pursed his lips, tapping his finger against the back of his bicep as he fell back into deep thought.

Lisara stared down the hallway, narrowing her eyes as she came to a solid decision. "You'll just have to go without me; there's no other way around it."

"What, you're going to just stand here and wait for me to come back?"

She shrugged as she faced him. "What other choice do we have?"

Vilkas gazed down at her, his dark eyebrows drawn tight and low over his eyes. Clearly, he didn't like the plan, but they both knew she was right: there was no other solution. After letting out a deep sigh, he let his arms fall to his sides as he backed up a few steps. He shot one last glance in her direction, to which Lisara nodded back in confirmation. His chest heaved as he took deep breaths and swung his arms back and forth, watching the timing of the gates.

After a minute or so, he nodded to himself before shouting, "WULD!" and he shot forward, disappearing from the room in less than a second. A strong breeze blew past afterwards, which was the only thing to prove that he'd been standing in front of her not a moment before.

Lisara hurried over to the tunnel entrance, scanning the other end of the hallway for Vilkas' large form. He was facing away from her, staring at his hands in silence.

"Vilkas! Are you all right?" she yelled.

At the sound of her voice, he turned back and nodded, though his expression seemed sheltered. As she stood there staring at him, she finally realized that the gates no longer operated; now, the only sound that surrounded them was silence.

"Do you think it's safe?" she called out to him.

He shrugged, motioning for her to join him on the other side. Hesitantly, she glanced up at the ceiling, watching for any semblance of movement from the gate mechanisms.

_If I get stabbed by the bottom of a gate, I swear to Talos…_

With a pounding heart, she sprinted down the hallway, keeping Vilkas in her sights. If she only focused on his figure in the distance, before she knew it, she'd be standing right beside him—or rather, crashing right into him. She'd been concentrating on him so much, she didn't realize she'd already reached the other side until she nearly plowed right into him.

He reached out and grabbed her upper arms, swinging her around to a stop in front of him. "By Talos, slow down!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I thought I was going to get squished by a gate," she gasped, fighting to catch her breath. She realized a little belatedly that he was still holding onto her, his hands emitting so much warmth, she thought he'd set her skin on fire.

"Well, thankfully, you're fine. Let's go," he commanded, hastily letting go of her arms as if he'd also realized that he was still touching her.

They trekked past the lit brazier in the center of the room, heading down another flight of steps and through yet another tunnel. In the next room, the air transformed from dry and muted to saturated with a damp chill. Cobwebs lined the cavern walls, all the way up to the ceiling, and Lisara cringed.

_Spiders. I_ hate _spiders._

In front of her, Vilkas drew his sword and, over his shoulder, instructed, "Draw your blades. There are likely Frostbite Spiders up ahead."

"Wonderful…" she muttered, trailing off as she unsheathed her daggers.

"What, do you not like spiders?" he teased.

She glared up at the back of his head and he chuckled in response to her silence. "Farkas is afraid of them, too. Good thing I'm here and he isn't; the two of you would never get anything done."

Only a few feet later, the hairy, oversized front leg of a Frostbite Spider emerged from behind a web, and Vilkas rushed forth, swinging his greatsword at the creature. The sound of blade meeting spider-flesh made Lisara cringe again—it was far too squishy sounding for her liking. Slowly, she paced around the room, waiting to see if he needed assistance with the one, lone spider. If she didn't have to get up close and personal with one, by Talos' name, she wasn't going to.

Of course, per her luck, the skittering sound of a spider rubbing its pincers together sounded from behind her, and she turned to face it with a grimace on her face. She barely had time to roll to the side before the spider jumped up and came crashing back down, its massive legs colliding with the stone where she'd been standing.

With a shudder, she leapt forward, stabbing her dagger into the side of the spider's abdomen. It swiped at her, hissing sharply before it spat poisoned saliva her way. She dove out of the way, rolling to her feet before she circled around to the front of the spider. When she moved to feint forward and to the side, Vilkas' greatsword sliced the air in front of her, causing her to jump backwards in surprise. His blade met the spider's neck, separating its head from its body.

"I had it," she grunted, shoving her blades into their places at her thighs.

"Aye, I'm sure you did. But you were taking far too long with it, and we have a horn to find," he remarked.

"Oh, I  _do_  apologize," she snapped, brushing past him and walking through the next open archway.

The soft sound of his chuckle followed after her and she huffed, irritated at his behavior. He was normally stoic and somber, but apparently, teasing her about her fear of spiders brought out the  _best_  in him. Up ahead, the tunnel fell into darkness—none of the previously lit torches from before extended into this hallway.

Vilkas' heavy hand fell onto her shoulder, and he stepped in front of her, taking point. Part of her was even more irritated at his insistence to protect her—when she'd reminded him time and time again that she didn't need it—but the other, smaller part of her appreciated the chivalry.

Lisara channeled a Magelight spell and tossed it into the air. The haunting, pale blue glow of the spell illuminated the pathway, and Vilkas turned to shoot a glare her way. Frankly, she didn't care whether he disliked magic or not. She didn't want to trip over a rat, or worse, another spider.

Now, thanks to the arcane light, they could see the wooden door that rested shut at the end of the hallway. Once they were through, and up the stairs that awaited them on the other side, Vilkas tugged on the metal ring hanging from the wall beside the metal gate. The room on the other side was not what Lisara had expected to find in the deepest part of the cavern.

A narrow stone bridge stretched ahead of them, flanked on both sides by still, dark water. Beyond that, a raised platform that resembled a coffin pedestal a bit too much for Lisara's liking, stood waiting. When they stepped off the small staircase before the bridge, deep rumbling resonated throughout the room and Vilkas' arm shot out in front of Lisara. She tensed and crouched, gripping the handle of her daggers in case any more draugr emerged.

To their surprise, stone figures rose out of the water, and the cold mist that resulted drifted over them. When nothing else happened, they both straightened and Vilkas crept forward, gesturing for Lisara to follow closely behind him.

The closer they got to the platform, the more Lisara realized it wasn't a coffin pedestal at all. It looked more like a stone edifice, shaped roughly like a jagged pyramid. On top of the "pyramid", right in the center, a stone hand emerged from the mounting, its fingers curled as if it were supposed to be holding something important within its grasp. There was nothing but a rolled piece of parchment there, and Lisara surmised that that must've been where the Horn was  _supposed_  to be.

Someone had been here before them.

With an irritated grunt, Vilkas stepped up and snatched the parchment from the hand. Quickly, he unrolled the parchment and his eyes moved back and forth as he read the contents of the letter. A few seconds later, he mumbled, "Damn it."

Lisara sidled up to him and asked, "What did it say?"

"A 'friend' wants us to meet them in Riverwood. I assume they took the Horn."

"How could they have known we'd come looking for the Horn?"

That was when Vilkas glanced up at her and narrowed his eyes. "Exactly. The letter was addressed  _to_  the Dragonborn."

She crossed her arms and mirrored his tense expression. "That's not suspicious at all."

He grunted again, though this time it was in agreement, before glancing away. "Not much else we can do. Suppose we'll have to go meet with them."

"Do you think that's safe?"

With a raised eyebrow, he looked back at her. "I'm the Dragonborn and a Companion. You are a Dark Brotherhood assassin. I think we can take care of ourselves."

She tossed her hands up in the air and sighed. "Fine. Suit yourself. After all, you're in charge. If you want to go to Riverwood to meet with the Horn thief, then I suppose we're heading to Riverwood."

He shifted his body and faced her head-on. "You don't  _have_  to come with me, Lisara. I've already told you to go back to the Brotherhood."

"And  _I've_  already told you that I can't do that—not without proof of the fulfillment of my contract. Which leads me to my next point: we've already discussed that I'm not carrying it out. Ergo, I cannot go back to the Sanctuary."

He stared down at her, his pale, intense eyes filled with an unreadable emotion. "Why  _is_  that?"

She let out a sigh at his question and sat down on the step, pulling Vilkas' pelt tighter around her shoulders. "Why is what?"

"Why aren't you planning on carrying out your contract? You seemed rather eager to get the job done when you climbed into my bed that night."

With a smirk, she glanced up at him. "You know that makes the reason behind that sound vastly different than the truth?"

Vilkas rolled his eyes and stepped down before sitting beside her. "Don't avoid the question."

"Caught that, did you?"

When he hummed in affirmation, she turned away and gazed out at the other side of the room, to the entrance they'd come through beyond the bridge. How much should she tell him? Would it honestly hurt to tell him the truth? The real reason why she'd stayed her blade?

Lisara drew the dagger from her right thigh, absentmindedly tracing the patterns in the blade while she pondered on exactly what to say. A few minutes later, Vilkas cleared his throat and the sound pulled her out of her reverie.

With nothing else to preface but an intake of breath, she blurted out, "I had a brother. Well, I  _have_  a brother, if you really want to be technical."

"A brother?"

"Yes, a brother," Lisara echoed. She looked over at Vilkas and asked, "Do you honestly want to hear this now? Do we even have time for a heart-to-heart chat?"

He shrugged. "It wasn't as if they gave us a time limit. I'm sure they'll wait as long as it takes. Go on."

She broke eye contact and stared down at her blade again. "Uh, yes, I have a brother. His name is Elias. He—if he's  _alive_ , he'd be two years older than I am. When I was fourteen, he left home. Ran away, I suspect—though for that, I can't blame him. It's leaving me behind that I'm angry at him for."

"Ran away? Why would a lad run away from home at such a young age?"

"My father was...he was both a terrible father and a terrible person. He tried his hardest, I'm sure, but the challenges of life proved to be more than he was capable of handling..." she trailed off.

Vilkas remained silent for a second, and when he next spoke, his voice was low and tight. "What exactly do you mean?"

"He drank. Often. The influence of alcohol pushed him to raise his hand to us, more than once."

The tension in the air was nearly palpable and Lisara faced Vilkas, surprised to see that he was clenching his jaw. He'd balled his hands into tight fists, and they were shaking with the force of his wrath. "Why does that anger you?"

He shot to his feet, pacing back and forth for a few seconds before he finally replied, "Regardless of the reason, a man should never beat his children. There is  _no_  excuse for that."

Lisara straightened, still shocked that he was reacting so strongly to her admission. She watched him travel from one end of the room to the other, and finally, he came to a halt, resting his hands on his hips as he faced away from her. After inhaling deeply, he about-faced and stared down at her.

"What happened to your father? You said 'was' earlier—I take it he is no longer of this world?"

She studied him, gauging how much to tell him of her father's death. He'd reacted negatively to her profession, though she gathered that was mainly because of how she'd tried to kill  _him_. How would he react to the news that  _she_  had been the one to end her father's life?

As she locked eyes with him, in a voice just barely above a whisper, she replied, "...I killed him."

Vilkas tensed for a brief moment when he'd heard what she'd said, before his posture loosened once more. With a single, firm nod, he stated, "Good."

For whatever reason, relief flooded through her at his acceptance of her past deeds, and she smiled briefly. Her eyes dropped to her dagger again and she continued on. "I mentioned my brother because, ironically, he's the reason I couldn't bring myself to kill  _you_."

As he wandered back over to the steps, he replied, "I don't think I follow." He sank down beside her again and this time, kept his gaze trained on her face.

"It was something you'd said that day, in the yard behind Jorrvaskr. My brother had said something nearly identical to that when we were younger. I don't know why but, the sound of his voice flitted through my mind when my dagger was poised above your throat. I...I couldn't do it. Not after that," she explained, sliding her dagger back into its sheath as she rose to her feet.

She whirled around to face Vilkas. "Ever since then, I...I don't know. I've never had any reservations about killing people. It matters little to me whether they deserve it or not. I simply carry out contracts and move on with my life. But with you...with every day that passes, I realize how  _good_  you are, and I...I can't do it. I can't take someone as good as you away from the world."

He leaned back, resting his arm across his thigh as he stared up at her. That heavy veil of emotion fell over his eyes again and slowly, he rose to his feet as well. With slow, sure steps, he walked over to her, coming to a stop when he stood just before her. The tension in the air intensified, exactly like it had a couple of nights ago in High Hrothgar's dining hall. Lisara blinked up at Vilkas, unsure of what he was thinking because his expression was so shuttered.

Unexpectedly, he raised his hand to her face. He reached out, seemingly to caress her cheek, but before his fingers touched her skin, he paused, hesitating for some unknown reason. She glanced down out of the corner of her eye at his hand, then back up into his eyes. The soft, ghostly touch of his callused fingers running along the soft skin of her face caused her to sigh and close her eyes.

Out of nowhere, he dropped his hand to his side and her eyes flew open. In his eyes, that unreadable emotion was back yet again, and he opened his mouth to speak, only to close it almost immediately afterwards. When he finally did speak, his voice was uneven and deeper than usual. "I suppose I should thank you, then."

Lisara chuckled nervously, unsure what to think of the atmosphere between them. She waved her hand in the air and joked, "Seems silly for you to thank me for  _not_  killing you."

He laughed shortly through his nose, the sound brief and fleeting. After taking a step back, he stared at her intently, before nodding and tilting his head towards the tunnel behind him. "We should go."

"That we should."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to StarryNight101 for beta-reading for me!
> 
> Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out, y'all. Also, my newfound obsession with Outlander probably shows in this chapter. Hehehe, I just can't help it. Jamie and Vilkas are surprisingly similar! 
> 
> See y'all next chapter!


	9. The Sleeping Giant Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas and Lisara head to The Sleeping Giant Inn to meet with this mysterious 'friend'.

The initial journey from High Hrothgar to Ustengrav had not been an easy one. While Lisara was used to riding on horseback, she'd never ridden quite that hard for that long of a distance before. In addition to that, she normally traveled alone because she preferred to _work_ alone. Traveling with another person, let alone someone as stoic and reserved as Vilkas, had been a new experience for her.

He'd been taciturn the entire way to Ustengrav, but considering what had transpired between them inside the crypt, Lisara had been hoping that the trip back to Riverwood would be significantly less awkward. After all, she'd opened up to him and shared a bit of her past, which she'd refused to do before. Wouldn't he try to ask more about that? Or even perhaps share a bit of _his_ past with her?

Of course, per her luck as of late, she'd gauged the situation wrong.

It took them almost a full day to ride back to Riverwood, and the entire return trip was conducted in near absolute silence—the only sound that surrounded them was the heavy pounding of their horses' hooves. The worst part of it all was that Lisara was unsure about exactly _why_ Vilkas was so tight-lipped. Whether he was upset with her over what she'd said, or whether he was upset about this 'friend' they were going to meet, she didn't know. Though his being upset over the moment in Ustengrav didn't quite line up with her impression of it, it wouldn't be the first time she was wrong about something. Truly, it was the uncertainty that was killing her.

If they'd made camp overnight on the way back, she would've asked him about his silence—or at least, that's what she kept telling herself. However, they rode just as hard as they had on the prior trip and, on the next day, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, they rode under the archway marking the entrance into Riverwood.

Morthal and Riverwood were rather similar; both were smaller towns in Skyrim, with wooden homes, thatched roofs, and townsfolk who didn't concern themselves with anything beyond the limits of their homes. While Morthal was a dock town that was situated right on the edge of the frigid ocean, Riverwood sat at the base of the Throat of the World, resting over the banks of the White River. As a result, the air here wasn't nearly as prone to giving someone frostbite.

As they rode towards the Sleeping Giant Inn on the other end of town, Lisara considered shrugging out of Vilkas' wolf pelt, since it was warmer now than it had been in the depths of the crypt. She reached for the belt around her waist and at the last second, hesitated; it was silly, but she almost didn't wish to give it back because it seemed so...personal. It was something that Vilkas wore on his person on a regular basis, and he'd been willing to share its warmth and comfort with her. She was afraid that if she returned it to its rightful owner, he'd never reach out to her and offer it again. It was a ridiculous fear, and she knew it—after all, it wasn't ever hers to begin with, and it wasn't as if she could keep it forever.

Surreptitiously lowering her hands back onto the pommel of Shadowmere's saddle, she decided that for now, she'd keep wearing it. Just until he asked for it back, of course.

Finally, they arrived at the inn and quickly dismounted. Lisara detached her cumbersome pack from Shadowmere's saddle and hoisted it onto her back, while Vilkas secured their horses reins to the post by the steps. Once he was finished, he turned to her and jerked his head towards the door, silently asking if she was ready to head inside.

Instead of agreeing, Lisara pointed over her shoulder and said, "I think I'm actually going to try and sell some of the stuff in my pack, first. If it gets any heavier, I don't think I'll be able to walk anywhere."

Vilkas nodded and turned away from her, slowly ascending the steps. "Aye, but keep the dragon bones," he instructed over his shoulder.

Lisara grumbled and walked away, towards the first building they'd passed on their way to the inn. Under her breath, she muttered, "Of course he wants to keep the bones; they're the heaviest things in this bag…"

From behind her, Vilkas' deep timbre called out to her. "Lisara? The dragon bones?"

"Yes, I heard you! I'll keep the damn bones!" _Insufferable Nord._

She stomped the rest of the way across town, miffed that Vilkas' first words to her all day were about _dragon bones_. He had priorities, of course, but was a simple "hello" or "good morning" so difficult to say?

With her thoughts muddled by sound irritation, she headed for the house she'd seen with the blacksmithing sign—an iron horseshoe with an anvil resting in the center—which was back towards the entrance to the village. When she got there, she hopped up the small staircase that led off to a covered side patio, where a muscular blond Nord was sitting at a whetstone, his head bent over his task as he concentrated on the dagger in his hand. His foot worked the pedal that kept the stone spinning, and as it moved, he slid the dagger's edge back and forth along the material.

When he lifted his foot from the pedal and the whirring of the stone died down, Lisara spoke up. "A fine blade."

The Nord glanced up at her and the corner of his mouth curled upwards. "I thank you for the compliment, lass. Ain't everyday we get visitors in Riverwood. What can I do for you?"

Lifting her pack off her shoulder so that she could drop it to the floor, Lisara replied, "I'd like to sell a few things."

It took quite a bit of time to unload her bag, but when all of her wares were spread out before the blacksmith, the real bartering began. By the time the blacksmith—Alvor—was finished picking and choosing all the items he was interested in purchasing, Lisara's money pouch was nearly bursting at the brim.

As she cinched her bag and moved to leave, Alvor gestured to the pack and asked, "Did I spot some dragon bones in there, lass? What with the beasts makin' an appearance again, I bet I could sell some of those for you. People always want proof of what's waggin' their tongues."

Lisara grinned and faced Alvor, patting the shoulder strap of her bag. "Unfortunately, my companion would prefer to keep them. If it were up to me, I would gladly sell them _all_ to you." As she made her way down the steps, she called out, "Thank you, Alvor."

He lifted a hand in farewell and sat back down at his whetstone, returning to his job from before.

With her pack significantly lighter, Lisara returned to the inn with her spine straight and her shoulders back, finally free of almost all the overwhelming weight. Considering the way Vilkas tended to hoard everything they saw, she didn't imagine the feeling would last very long.

She headed up the stairs and into the inn, scanning the main room for Vilkas' large frame. When she didn't see him, she lowered her eyebrows in concern. Another cursory glance proved unfruitful, and she wandered over to the counter beyond the fire pit, clearing her throat to get the woman's attention. "Excuse me."

The woman, blonde like Alvor, whirled around, a rag and an empty mug in her hands. "Yes?"

"Did you happen to see a tall, brown-haired Nord pass through here? He might've been asking for a room? Has a strong accent?"

She paused in her ministrations, glancing up at the ceiling ever so briefly before looking back at Lisara. "He doesn't sound familiar."

Lisara pressed her lips into a thin line—Vilkas was hard to ignore. "You really can't miss him. He's about double my height, has piercing blue eyes...covered from head to toe in dark leather. Big sword on his back?"

Acknowledgment lit up the woman's face and she set the mug and rag down. She made her way around the bar and gestured for Lisara to follow her as she made her way over to a room on the opposite side of the inn.

Silently, Lisara acquiesced, keeping her hand on the hilt of her dagger underneath Vilkas' pelt. Perhaps it was a good thing that she'd decided to keep it on. Though the innkeeper seemed to mean no harm, her hesitation and initial denial of recognizing Vilkas set off alarms on Lisara's radar. It was all rather suspicious, and she wondered again whether it had been a good idea to follow the note's instructions.

Once they stood in front of the door, the innkeeper led Lisara into what she assumed was a bedroom. There, Vilkas was sitting on the bed, tapping his fingers against his inner thigh impatiently. When he spotted them, he shot to his feet and roughly brushed past the woman to stand before Lisara, grasping her upper arms in his firm grip.

"Lisara, are you all right?" he demanded, his eyebrows furrowed over his pale eyes.

"I'm fine…Why wouldn't I be?"

At that, Vilkas' gaze shot to the innkeeper. To Lisara's surprise, he narrowed them, his lips tight with distrust. She stared at the woman questioningly, wondering what she could have possibly done to pull Vilkas' ire to the surface. Then again, speaking from experience, it didn't seem all that difficult to do.

The innkeeper crossed her arms and stared Vilkas down. Her gaze flitted from the top of his head to his boots, and Lisara thought it almost looked like she was judging him—though she had no idea what exactly it was the woman was judging him for. She and Vilkas had obviously exchanged words, but Lisara had been absent for that, and as a result, she was feeling rather confused; the tension was nearly palpable in the air.

"Vilkas...what's going on?" Lisara whispered.

"Ask _her_ ," he spat.

Lisara faced the innkeeper again, who tilted her chin up defiantly. The woman's shrewd gaze drifted over to Vilkas, and in a monotone voice, she commented, "So. You're the Dragonborn I keep hearing about."

Vilkas didn't respond and instead, he tightened his grip on Lisara's arm. When they both remained silent, the woman sighed and turned around, walking back out into the inn's main room as she called out over her shoulder, "Follow me. We need to talk."

She led them across the wide room and opened a door on the opposite side, leading them into a larger bedroom that was more extravagantly decorated than the last one they'd been in. The furnishings were of higher quality and a warm, welcoming fur rug lined the floor. After she crossed the space and paused in front of a tall wooden armoire, she turned and instructed, "Close the door."

With a curl of his lip, Vilkas acquiesced and it was then that the innkeeper opened the armoire's doors and leaned in. A few seconds later, they heard a quiet click. The back wall of the armoire fell away and she stepped _into_ it, turning back around to stare at Lisara and Vilkas.

"Well, come on, then," she prompted, before disappearing downwards.

The duo glanced at each other before Vilkas stepped forward, climbing into the armoire after the innkeeper. After a second, he reached back and held his hand out to Lisara. "There's a staircase here."

Before she took his hand, she asked, "Vilkas, can we trust her?"

He hesitated a moment, and his hand lowered ever so slightly. "To be honest, I'm not sure, lass. But we're already here and...we _need_ that Horn. At this point, we've no choice."

They gazed at each other for a few seconds before Lisara nodded, albeit reluctantly, and took his hand. She lifted her leg over the base of the armoire and followed Vilkas down the stone steps, into the cold cellar of the inn.

Unlike other cellars Lisara had seen, this one was...quite different. Instead of casks of wine or stores of grain—which one would expect to see in the cellar of an inn—there was a large wooden table that stood in the center of the room, with a vellum map resting atop it. A fighting dummy sat in the far corner, and an alchemy mixing table was in the opposite one. For warmth, the innkeeper had lined the stone floor with multiple animal rugs, and Lisara was surprised to find that the air wasn't nearly as chilled as she'd expected it to be below ground.

The woman walked around the table and once she stood opposite from them, she braced her hands on the wooden surface, leaning forward to look at Vilkas once more. " _Now_ we can talk."

He crossed his muscular arms, staring down his nose at her. "Why all the secrecy?"

"Well, I have to be sure the man I'm speaking to is indeed the Dragonborn. The Greybeards seem to think you are; I hope they're right."

Lisara narrowed her eyes at the woman, asking, "So _you_ took the horn?"

The woman glanced at Lisara, seemingly dismissing her shortly afterward when she turned back to Vilkas. The corner of the woman's lips twitched upwards. "Surprised, are we? I suppose my harmless innkeeper act is working, then."

Vilkas let out a grunt in response, and somehow, the woman took that as a sign to continue. "Look, I just had to make sure that it wasn't a Thalmor trap. How about I give you the horn in good faith, and in return, you listen to what I have to say?"

At that, Vilkas looked over at Lisara. They gazed at each other, and Vilkas narrowed his eyes as if to ask her what she thought about this whole situation. In return, Lisara tilted her head to the side, and the corners of her mouth turned down, though it wasn't quite a full-on frown.

Personally, Lisara didn't think it would hurt to simply _listen_ to the woman, and if she did give them the horn regardless, then they'd accomplished what they'd set out to do. She directed a slight nod at Vilkas —to anyone else it would've been nearly imperceptible—and faced the woman again. Satisfied with Lisara's acceptance of the plan, Vilkas stated, "Aye, you've a deal."

The innkeeper nodded and pulled a long, curved horn out of her dress pocket, subsequently handing it over to Vilkas. He took it and inspected it briefly before passing it on to Lisara. "All right. What did you want to say?"

She straightened, meeting Vilkas' eyes as she spoke in a firm voice. "My name is Delphine. I'm part of a group who has been looking for you—or rather, someone _like_ you—for a very long time. I won't say any more until I'm sure that I can trust you, however."

Vilkas drew his eyebrows tightly together. In a low voice, he murmured, "How do _I_ know that I can trust _you_?"

A dry, almost humorless laugh left the woman, and she replied, "You'd have been a fool to follow me down here if you didn't trust me."

He inclined his head to the side and mumbled," Fair enough."

"So...can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?"

Vilkas hesitated for a second, before saying, "Aye. I can."

"Hm. I'll need you to prove it. Once I know for certain that you're the Dragonborn, I'll explain the plan." Delphine then moved around the table, heading for the stairs out of the cellar. Over her shoulder she said, "Let's go. We're heading to Kynesgrove. There's an ancient dragon burial mound there; you'll have a chance to prove your word then."

Once they were outside the inn, Delphine wandered off to fetch her horse, stating that they could either ride to Kynesgrove together, or head there separately and meet up at the mound. After a quick glance at Lisara, Vilkas informed the woman that they'd meet her there sometime tomorrow—that way, they'd have a chance alone to discuss what had just transpired.

The two of them rode out together, heading north to curve around the mountain before swinging east towards Windhelm. Kynesgrove was another small village that was just south of the larger city, and it would take them nearly another day to reach the Eastmarch region.

By now, the sun had fallen behind the mountain range, and the sky was as dark as the seemingly bottomless ocean. The only difference between the expanse above and the one below, was that the stars twinkled in the inky void, a canopy of ethereal beauty that stole Lisara's breath away. She pulled her gaze from the fathomless sight and turned to Vilkas, who was already staring in her direction. Startled, she tensed her legs and Shadowmere lurched forward, thinking she meant for him to speed up. With a jerk of the reins, she fell back beside Vilkas, who was now chuckling at her.

She shook her head at him and pleaded, "Don't laugh, please. It's been a long day."

"Aye, lass, it has. What do you think of all this?"

"Of Delphine and her plan?" Lisara asked, pulling her braid in front of her shoulder. "Hard to say right now, considering we know next to nothing about what she really wants from you."

He hummed in agreement, but didn't say anything else. They rode in silence for a few minutes, until he turned to her again. "I meant to tell you this earlier, but...thank you—for telling me about your brother."

Lisara fiddled with the ends of her braid—she hadn't washed her hair in some time, and the normally fine ends were now scratchy and dry—as she made a noncommittal sound in response. Vilkas took this as a sign that she was upset, and he urged his mount forward, forcing her to stop as he blocked the way.

"I mean it, lass. It means a lot to me that you shared something so personal with me."

She shrugged. "It wasn't exactly the world's biggest secret. You asked, I answered."

"Nevertheless. Thank you."

After a smile and a nod from her, he moved aside, and they were trotting forward again. A few minutes later, as they headed around the mountain, Lisara spotted the evidence of life off in the distance. A soft glow surrounded Whiterun; the far-reaching illumination emanated from the windows of occupied cabins. Though she didn't consider anywhere in Skyrim to be her home, for whatever reason, the sight left her feeling nostalgic and homesick.

Vilkas must've caught the direction of her gaze, because he glanced at the town, then back at her. "We're but a half hour's ride from Whiterun, lass. We can return and rest for the night, if you wish."

"You told Delphine we'd meet her tomorrow, though." Despite the fact that she had rebutted Vilkas' suggestion, she couldn't help the hopeful tone that had crept into her words.

"Aye, I did. But we can make the ride from Whiterun to Kynesgrove in less than a day, if we ride hard. At this point, I know you're capable of it; if today had been the first day we rode together, I'd not suggest it."

She raised an eyebrow at him and remarked, "Is that a backhanded compliment, Vilkas?"

"Take it as you will."

She laughed under her breath, and her eyes slid back to the light over the hill. "A warm bed and cozy blankets over a flimsy bedroll does sound nice."

"That it does," he agreed.

The corner of her lip curled upwards in a wry smile as she met Vilkas' gaze. He mirrored her expression and jerked his head towards the town, steering his mount in the opposite direction of their destination. Now armed with the knowledge that they'd be taking shelter under a roof, and not exposed to the cold, Skyrim night, they rode faster, eager to reach the town.

In less time than Vilkas anticipated, they were dismounting at the base of the city and handing their reins over to the stable boy. Lisara collected her pack and they were climbing up the hill, heading towards the massive gate that marked the entrance to Whiterun. With a nod to the guards, Vilkas pushed open the inset door, holding it for Lisara to pass through.

She muttered her thanks and they ambled down the street, heading for Jorrvaskr. It wasn't until they were ascending up the hill towards the home of the Companions that she froze, suddenly remembering her last time here.

"Vilkas, wait!"

He turned back, a questioning expression on his face at the tone in her voice. After a deep breath, she admitted, "I don't think I can stay at Jorrvaskr."

"Why not? You're a shield-sister—well, almost, anyway."

Lisara crossed her arms, feeling uncertain for some reason. "Yes, but, I assume you sounded the alarm when you came racing after me that day…"

Vilkas raised his eyebrows as the realization hit him. "Oh, aye...you're right. I could speak to them, explain—"

She held up a hand to stop him from continuing. "Yes, you could, but I doubt your word alone will make them warm up to me. Unless you'd be all right with me staying in your room with you, I think perhaps I'll stay at the inn tonight and meet up with you tomorrow?"

He stroked his chin, likely weighing the pros and cons in his mind. It was likely he'd missed her comment about staying in his room, since he failed to respond to it—in fact, he didn't even react to it at all. She was surprised to find herself slightly disappointed at the lack of response.

Finally, he dropped his hand and met her gaze again. "Are you sure, lass? The inn is bound to be full with rowdy m—rowdy folk. I don't know how I feel about you being on your own there, of all places."

"I can take—"

Vilkas interrupted her with a quick nod of his head. "Aye, I _know_ you can take care of yourself. Still, I can...I don't...perhaps I can stay there with you—to keep watch."

She smiled slightly, warmed by his concern for her well-being, and her eyes dropped for a brief moment before she met his gaze again. "Thank you, Vilkas, but...I'll be all right."

After a few seconds, he sighed. "If that's what you think is the better route, I won't stop you, then. Do you need gold for the room?"

She waved her hand in the air dismissively, turning around to head back to the inn. "No, I've got enough. I'll meet you at the gate in the morning."

"Aye. Good night, Lisara," Vilkas called after her.

Not trusting herself to stay the course if she turned around, she threw up her hand and waved a farewell, adjusting her pack on her shoulders afterwards. It was touching that he'd offered to stay with her during the night, and she wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Was it purely out of chivalric concern? Or would he miss her presence as much as she was worried that she'd miss his? Was it absolutely ridiculous of her to hope that was truly the case?

A few minutes later, she reached The Bannered Mare and walked inside, reveling in the blanket of heat that swept over her. The fire in the middle of the room was blazing high with a plethora of Nords surrounding it. Their infectious laughter and boisterous singing—which was horribly out of tune with the bard's—made her smile, and she weaved her way through the crowd towards the counter, where a brunette Nord woman stood.

She smiled amiably and straightened when Lisara approached, nodding as she greeted, "Hello there, lass. What can I do for you?"

"A room for the night, please. If you've one available, that is. I realize it's short notice," Lisara replied apologetically.

"Aye, we do. Most of these men are locals, so we're not nearly as busy as we look. That'll be ten Septims, dearie."

After Lisara handed over the money, the woman gave her a hefty iron key, pointing at the door on the other side of the room. "That's where you'll be. I'll keep an eye on _these_ ones, but you'd best lock your door—just in case."

Lisara offered a grateful smile in thanks as she took the key and made her way over to the room. Once she'd let herself in, she shut the door behind her and followed the innkeeper's advice, turning the lock and pulling a chair over to stuff under the knob. She tossed her pack onto the table and quickly pulled out a clean shift and a thin towel, laying them over the back of the other chair. She unbuckled Vilkas' belt and laid his pelt aside, running her fingers through the soft fur like she had the first time he'd handed it to her. Sweet relief flooded through her as she stripped out of her dirt-covered, sweat-crusted armor, kicking it aside as she stretched her neck and back. They'd been doing an incessant amount of riding over the past few days, and she was incredibly sore.

Glancing about, she spotted a carafe and wash basin on the nightstand beside the bed, and quickly strode over to it, bringing it back over to the table. She poured some water into the basin and grabbed the provided rag, dunking it into the cold liquid. With a shiver, she realized that this bath was likely to be unpleasant, what with the frigid temperature of the water.

The first rough scratch of the rag against her skin caused her to jump in reflex, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh along the path of the rag. _By the Nine! Is_ everything _in this land cold?!_

Fifteen minutes later, she was finally free of all the dried blood and caked dirt that had been on her skin for days. She pulled a small, precious bar of soap that she'd brought from High Rock out of her bag, setting it aside for now. With a deep breath, she dipped her tangled, greasy hair into the freezing water, massaging the strands back and forth to loosen the clumps of dirt she knew were hiding in there. Once her hair was as clear of rubbish as it could be, she reached for the soap and lathered it up, running her soapy fingers through the strands of her hair.

After she'd rinsed the suds out, she reached for the towel, wringing the extra moisture from her hair. Quickly, she re-braided it and pulled her shift on, finally wandering over to the bed. She pulled the covers back, shivering slightly as the cold draft that blew through the room hit her damp hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Vilkas' pelt on the chair. Tilting her head, she stared at it thoughtfully, trying to figure out whether he'd be upset that she'd slept in it.

_Oh, who says he has to know? After all, he gave it to me to protect me from the cold, didn't he?_

With a nod to reassure herself, she strode across the room, grabbing the pelt and wrapping herself in it as she walked back to the bed. This time, she slid under the covers and leaned over, blowing out the candle. Plunged into the comforting relief of darkness, she laid down, pulling the covers up to her chin and turning onto her side.

The chatter coming from the main hall was detracting from her ability to relax, and she rolled over, tucking her chin into the fur pelt around her. Despite Vilkas' scent permeating her senses, which pulled thoughts of him to the surface of her mind, she fell fast asleep within minutes.

* * *

_The next morning._

Shadowmere shifted from hoof to hoof, neighing loudly. With a sigh, Lisara stroked the side of his mane, equally as impatient to head out for Kynesgrove. They'd been waiting nearly an hour for Vilkas, just across the bridge outside of Whiterun.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the mountain range, sending golden, warm rays in every direction across the landscape. On the other side of the city, the sky was still tinged with hints of periwinkle, as the darkness of the night receded. People from within the gates were beginning to emerge, wandering out from the city's limits to go about their daily tasks. If she hadn't been so anxious to be on their way, it would've been fascinating to watch.

Finally, about fifteen minutes later, she saw Vilkas emerge from the main gate and make his way down the ramp. After he retrieved his mount from the stables, he quickly hoisted himself into the saddle and galloped across the bridge, heading in Lisara's direction.

Once he sidled up to her, he nodded and mumbled, "Good morning."

His voice was raspy and gruff, and she had to suppress a smile at the image of him rolling out of bed in a hurry, panicking as he realized he was late to meet her. "Good morning, Vilkas. Running a bit behind, are we?"

With a grunt, he spurred his mount forward, and they were on their way to Kynesgrove.

Even though he seemed slightly embarrassed that he'd kept her waiting, the atmosphere today was devoid of awkwardness. Despite the fact that they rode hard enough to cut out any opportunity for conversation—just like the day before—the air was noticeably lighter between them. She'd discovered in the short amount of time that she'd known Vilkas, that she much preferred their playful banter to no banter at all. However, if they weren't to exchange words, then at least the silence was bearable; Lisara found that she was thankful for the lack of tension.

Within a few hours, they'd passed into Eastmarch. Kynesgrove was only a couple of hours away from the border, and once they arrived, they'd finally see what this Delphine woman wanted from Vilkas.

Whatever it was, Lisara couldn't imagine it would be anything good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, another update?? I know, I know. Unfathomable, right? It'll be awhile until the next chapter is out, since I have to cycle through my other WIPs, so hopefully this makes the wait a little more bearable. Although, admittedly, it is a bit of a filler. Sorry :x
> 
> Many thanks to StarryNight101 for beta-reading, as always!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	10. The Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot to post this on AO3. I'm so sorry, guys!!!
> 
> Just a warning that this chapter earns the M rating. If you prefer not to read any sort of mature sexual content, I suggest you skip the rest of the chapter after the second line break.

There wasn't much to Kynesgrove. Aside from the mine, the only other establishment was a single building—more of a two-story house, really—that rested against the curve of the mountain. From the large post in front of the building, a wooden sign swung back and forth in the breeze, and Lisara assumed that the house must be an inn. Delphine was standing beside a brunette woman on the front porch, and from the tense expression on the blonde Breton's face, things must not have been what she'd expected to find.

When Lisara and Vilkas approached, Delphine looked over at them, her expression unchanged. She mumbled something to the other woman before descending to stand in front of Vilkas's horse. "About time you two arrived. Something isn't right."

"What do you mean?" Vilkas demanded, his voice gruff.

Before Delphine had a chance to respond, a guttural roar reverberated through the plains, shaking the ground beneath them. It was louder than any other dragon they'd heard thus far, and in reflex, Lisara gripped the reins tightly in her hands. Shadowmere shuffled anxiously in place, and she patted the side of his neck in an attempt to reassure him as she glanced up at the sky. A massive, ebony-scaled dragon flew overhead, blotting out the sun completely with its abnormally wide wingspan. Once it had passed over Kynesgrove, it circled in the air before landing a mile or so away. Even from beside the inn, they felt the tremor that radiated outwards from where it made contact with the ground.

Delphine rushed over to her mount and untied its reins, quickly clambering into her saddle. Urgently, she pointed in the direction of the dragon, and shouted, "Hurry! Before we're too late!"

The trio sped off towards the landing site, and when they approached it, Lisara narrowed her eyes. There was something about this dragon that seemed different; its presence was more demanding, more...powerful. Vilkas must've sensed it as well—likely more than she could—because he spurred his mount on, edging in front of Lisara.

Before they could reach the ebony dragon, it shouted something in the direction of the mound. The force of its roar rippled through the ground beneath them again. Shortly afterwards, it lifted off into the air, and the gust from its wings blew past them like a ferocious gale. Lisara threw her arm up in front of her face and tucked her chin under, trying to lessen the bite from the wind. Its gravelly, deep voice resounded around them, but Lisara couldn't understand a word, and she figured that it must've been speaking in the dragon tongue. When she looked up again, the dragon was flying off into the distance—it didn't appear to have seen them. Either that, or it didn't care.

They came to a halt beside two corpses and after dismounting, Delphine hurried over to inspect them. After checking their pulses, she stood with a grim expression on her face. "Stormcloak soldiers. Dead."

Lisara scanned the area around them. There was nothing in particular that stood out, besides the mound in front of them. "What were they even doing here?"

"Likely thinking they could take on a dragon by themselves, the idiots. That's what I meant by something being wrong in Kynesgrove: there were no soldiers on watch, and everyone was inside their homes already. The dragon must've circled over the town earlier."

Vilkas looked past Delphine at the mound. It was encircled by stone steps, and looked far too finished to simply be a pile of dirt. "So what was that dragon doing with  _that_?"

Delphine glanced over her shoulder, and explained, "I don't know, that's why I wanted to get over here. It's a burial mound, but I don't see what—"

She never had a chance to finish her sentence. The ground rumbled again, though this time there were no dragons flying overhead that would've caused the tremors. Lisara and Vilkas glanced at each other in concern, and he drew his greatsword from his back, his pale eyes wary as he looked around. After unsheathing her daggers, she crouched and inched closer to him, mirroring his motions.

Suddenly, the mound exploded, showering dirt and snow all around them. Delphine whirled around and drew her own blade, stumbling backwards in surprise when she saw a wing unfurl from underneath the soil. "A dragon?" she exclaimed.

"Good. I'm sick of standing around and waiting," Vilkas mumbled.

Lisara rolled her eyes at him. "I think you're the only one who can say that while a dragon is staring them in the face."

By now, the newly emerged dragon had clambered out of its burial mound and was draped over the side of the steps like a cat after its prey. Its shrewd, massive eyes swiveled around and spotted the three of them with their weapons drawn. This dragon was more similar to the previous ones Lisara and Vilkas had defeated. Its scales were lighter than the onyx scales of the dragon that had just flown away—more grey-toned than a true black. Still, it was impossible to tell just how much of a threat it was by sight alone.

It opened its mouth and, in a voice as grating as two stones rubbing together, spoke in the same language as the black dragon. With a great flap of its wings, it then took off into the air and circled above them, biding its time—though for what, Lisara had no idea. Vilkas faced her, his eyebrows drawn tight over his eyes. "I'm not going to sit here and wait for it to attack us. Lisara, can you hit it with an arrow from here?"

A quick glance upwards told her she might be able to arc the arrow enough to nick the dragon in the side. It wouldn't hurt it, but it would likely get its attention and anger it. Good thing they had the Dragonborn here, then.

She nodded at Vilkas before running over to Shadowmere. Quickly, she unhooked her bow and quiver from the strap on his saddle. When she was nearly finished nocking her arrow, the dragon dove towards them, and she barely had time to roll out of the way. Shadowmere and the other two horses darted off to safety, and when she came out of her roll, she quickly shot an arrow at the dragon. Since it was lower, her arrow actually managed to hit deeper than she'd anticipated. It howled and plummeted to the ground, snapping its jaws in anger.

Now that it was grounded, she slung her bow across her back and opted for her daggers. Vilkas came barrelling out of her peripheral, striking the dragon in the side with his massive blade. It turned its head and snapped at him with its colossal jaws, baring teeth that looked nearly as long as her arms, and as wide as she was. She held her breath in terror when they came within inches of his body. When he hopped backwards and safely out of its reach, she let out the air in a long exhale filled with relief.

Though they were more than capable of killing a dragon with just the two of them, Delphine's presence made the job extremely quick work. On the opposite side of the beast, she stabbed its wing with her sword, and it let out a pained roar. With one of its wings out of commission, it could no longer fly, and that gave them the advantage.

As if the dragon sensed the shift in the battle's dynamics, it planted its limbs into the dirt and swept its head from side to side. A blast of frigid air, filled with shards of ice, flew in their direction and Vilkas shoved Lisara aside to take the brunt of the squall. She cried out in surprise before tumbling across the ground, banging her elbows on nearly every rock in existence. Once she skidded to a stop—completely tangled in the underbrush—she scrambled to her feet, desperate to see if he was all right.

To her surprise, he was still in the fray, slicing at the dragon's hide with his sword. A ferocious battle cry left him and echoed across the plains—even Delphine glanced over at him, taken aback by the sheer volume of his voice. He must've been gearing up to shout, because shortly after, he hit the dragon with Unrelenting Force. The dragon evidently hadn't been expecting  _that_ , and it staggered back, allowing Vilkas and Delphine a clear shot.

He dove towards the dragon's neck, swinging his sword upwards. The sharpened edge of his blade sliced across the dragon's throat, and its blood burst forth in a crimson tide. Delphine jumped up to deal the finishing blow—a stab straight into the dragon's chest—and it let out one final, deafening roar, before its head crashed to the ground.

They stood there with their chests heaving, and Lisara stepped up beside Vilkas. He was covered in dragon blood, and it made his eyes stand out even more than his war paint. They were frantic, manic even, and appeared even paler in color than before. They were normally ice blue, but at the moment, they appeared almost silver. It was unnerving, but no less beautiful. The memory of their first dragon kill flashed through her mind then, and she realized that his eyes looked the same every time they'd felled a beast.

As Delphine continued to stare at the dragon's lifeless form, in an amazed tone of voice, she said, "We did it. You—Wait, what's happening?"

Vilkas and Lisara had already seen firsthand what happened when a dragon died, but this was apparently Delphine's first time. The dragon's body had begun to incinerate, and dried flakes of its hide floated into the air as a soft glow emanated from within it. Gradually, the glow became brighter, and as it spread, the dragon's body burned away even more. Within seconds, only its bones remained. A deep boom echoed around them, and the now-familiar golden tendrils of power swirled through the air, enveloping Vilkas completely.

Once the luminosity faded, he took a deep breath. Lisara laid a hand on his forearm, glancing up at him in concern. When he nodded once at her, she returned the gesture and moved towards the dragon's skeleton. As per their routine, she checked it over for salvageable bones and scales. Unfortunately, he only had one or two bones worth saving, and no scales. She pocketed her few findings and returned to Vilkas' side once she'd cinched up her pack.

_Back to lugging these things around again,_ she thought, annoyed at his penchant for collecting every little thing.

Delphine was staring at Vilkas, looking both incredibly confused and entirely in awe of his abilities. A few seconds passed, before she began with, "Well. I owe you some answers then, don't I?"

"Indeed, you do," Vilkas replied, crossing his arms over his chest—albeit with some difficulty due to his armor.

"All right. Go ahead; ask anything you want."

Vilkas glanced down at Lisara, who shrugged in response. This was his conversation to have, not hers. After all,  _he_  was the Dragonborn. Delphine was offering him answers that he desperately needed at this point, and she didn't want to steal the conversation in favor of her own curiosity. The answers wouldn't do nearly as much for her as they would for him.

"First things first: why do you think the dragons are coming back?" he questioned.

Delphine immediately shook her head. "I'm as much in the dark about that as you are. I was just as surprised to see that big black dragon here."

He furrowed his eyebrows, seemingly deep in thought. "When it spoke to the dragon we killed...it said some pretty odd things."

At that, Lisara piped up. "Wait, you understood it?"

"Yes. Didn't you?" Vilkas asked.

Lisara glanced over at Delphine, who shook her head again in denial. She looked back up at Vilkas. "No, neither of us did. It was speaking in the dragon tongue."

Delphine gestured to Vilkas, and added, "Which apparently you can understand. Makes sense, since you're the Dragonborn."

He grunted, sounding irritated. Lisara assumed it was because Delphine believed that he was the Dragonborn  _now_ , having dragged them across the region and requiring proof. In a low voice, he explained, "After the dragon emerged from its grave, it said a few things before we fought. It said something that sounded like a name, and then something about it being time to restore someone's dominion?"

"A name? What name?" Delphine demanded.

"Alduin?"

"It's not ringing a bell. We'll have to look into it further and see who or what is behind all of this starting. Maybe it's this Alduin."

Switching topics, Vilkas then asked, "So who exactly are  _you_?"

Delphine straightened, looking Vilkas directly in the eye. In a proud, strong voice, she stated, "I am one of the last remaining members of the Blades. It's been some time since our numbers were many, but we were dragonslayers. We served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragonslayer of us all.

"The last Dragonborn emperor, Tiber Septim, ruled nearly two-hundred years ago. Since then, the Blades have been trying to find a purpose. Now, with the return of the dragons, it seems we have one."

Vilkas remained silent, taking in all of this new information. Lisara shifted in place, glancing from Delphine back to Vilkas, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Since she started traveling with him, she'd become accustomed to the nuances in his features that would occur whenever he experienced an emotion. It was now odd to her to see him so cool and composed. The brief thought that he'd make a good politician flitted through her mind, before she then remembered that he'd likely have no patience for the job.

Finally, he asked, "So, what's next?"

Delphine shrugged. "Like I said before, we need to find out who's behind the dragon's reappearance. I'm guessing it's the Thalmor, but if I'm wrong, they'll likely know who  _is_  actually behind this."

"Why do you think that?" Lisara asked.

She faced Lisara before explaining, "Well, when Ulfric was captured, the war was basically over. Then, a  _dragon_  happens to attack, and he goes free. Suddenly, the war is back on. Now, there are dragons everywhere, and Skyrim is weakened because of their prolonged attacks. As a result, the Empire is weakened. Who else could possibly gain from all that but the Thalmor?"

"Makes sense," Lisara muttered under her breath.

Vilkas nodded in agreement. "How exactly do you propose we find out what the Thalmor knows about the dragons, then?"

"If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy, we could poke around and see if we can find anything that might be incriminating. Problem is, security there is tighter than a miser's purse. I'll have to see what I can do as far as forming as a plan. Meet me back in Riverwood in a couple of days. If I'm not back by then, wait for me at the inn. I shouldn't be long."

With that, she strolled away from them and whistled for her horse. Her shrill call caught the attention of Shadowmere and Vilkas' mount as well, and all three of them came traipsing out of a nearby grove of trees. Once they reached them, Delphine hopped onto hers and with one final parting wave, she rode off into the distance.

Once she was gone, Vilkas faced Lisara and jerked his head towards their mounts. "I'm glad she gave us a couple of days; we've things to take care of. First things first, let's head back to High Hrothgar and give the Greybeards back the Horn."

"Sounds like a plan to me. Lead the way."

Quickly, they climbed atop their mounts and faced west. With no other delays holding them back, they were off, and riding back for the Throat of the World.

* * *

They rode at a much more leisurely pace on the return trip, and by the time they'd completely ascended the towering mountain, night had fallen—though it was by no means dark. The bright, waxen light of the full moon lit up the entire valley, and made the snow appear to glow. After securing their mounts, they made their way up the stairs and into the warm halls of High Hrothgar.

Vilkas walked just slightly ahead of Lisara, and after he peeled off his leather riding gloves, he faced her. "Are you hungry?"

She hadn't been, but at the mention of food, her stomach rumbled loudly. "Uh, I guess I am. I could definitely eat, now that you mention it."

"Good, I'm starving. I'll go find Master Arngeir, and then we can meet in the dining hall in a quarter hour?"

Nodding to signify her assent, she veered left at the intersection—towards the rooms they stayed in the last time—while Vilkas went straight. Once she reached her room, she ambled inside and laid her pack beside the door, stripping out of her armor for the night. As she unbuckled her breastplate and lifted it over her head, she wrinkled her nose in disgust at the rancid scent of dried blood, mixed with the smell of multiple nights spent outdoors.

The same water basin she'd used last time was still in the far corner, but by now, she assumed that the water was likely frozen—it was certainly cold enough up here. Feeling lazy, she channeled a firebolt spell and directed it at the water in the bowl, curling her fingers to lessen the intensity rather than flinging it from her hand. Soon enough, the water was bubbling, and she gave it a minute or so to cool down before she dunked her armor into the bowl. Within a few minutes, her entire set of armor was no longer caked with dirt. Instead, the ebony panels glistened in the candlelight, and the deep crimson accents blazed with new life.

She threw it over the end of the wooden bed frame before rustling around in her pack for more casual clothing. A khaki linen tunic and fleece-lined black tights would have to do for now, and she cinched her weapons belt around her waist to prevent the tunic from flowing too freely. The Greybeards had never stated outright that they banned weapons inside their halls, and it made Lisara feel safer having her trusted, familiar weapons nearby. After re-braiding her hair, she left her room and made her way back down to the dining hall.

Unlike the last time, the dining hall wasn't set up for a grand meal. In fact, there was no one in the dining hall at all. No serving staff, no Greybeards, and most definitely not Vilkas. The massive fire that had burned in the center of the room before was currently unlit, and a chill permeated the air that caused Lisara to shiver.

Figuring she'd arrived slightly early, she traipsed over to the logs in the enormous hearth. Laziness seemed to be the theme of the night, and instead of manually lighting a fire, she simply threw a few firebolt spells at the wood. A few seconds later, she was warming her hands next to the inferno. She tucked her legs under a nearby table, and let out a sigh; the heat from the fire was comforting, and after a long day, it was making her feel a bit drowsy. It couldn't hurt to close her eyes for a few minutes until Vilkas arrived, could it?

Before she'd realized it, her eyes had slid shut and she was fast asleep.

* * *

When Lisara next woke, the fire she'd started in the hearth was nearly burned out; the air in the room was gradually becoming cooler. With stiff joints, she sat up and stretched her arms above her head, trying to lessen the ache in her limbs. Languidly, she clambered out from under the table and looked around the room, surprised to find that she was still alone. How long had she been asleep? And why hadn't Vilkas come to find her yet?

Figuring that the fire would die on its own, she left the dining hall and headed back for the main corridor. She saw that it was also empty, and many of the wall sconces had been dimmed, offering muted illumination.

_It must be later than I thought it was._ Where  _is Vilkas?_

The first thing she decided to do was check with the Greybeards. After all, Vilkas had mentioned that he'd wanted to return the Horn to Master Arngeir first. Perhaps they'd started discussing something about his role as the Dragonborn, and he'd lost track of the time?

She made her way down the center hall, heading for Master Arngeir's chamber. She felt a bit intrusive, interrupting him so late at night, but he'd mentioned in passing that if they ever needed anything, to not hesitate to ask. Once she stood just in front of his door, she knocked softly, hoping that she wouldn't wake any of the other Greybeards.

A few seconds later, the door cracked open and Master Arngeir leaned out. "Oh, Lisara. What is it, my dear?"

Lisara inclined her head in a respectful bow. "I'm sorry to bother you so late at night, Master Arngeir. Is Vilkas still with you?"

"Vilkas? No, he left quite some time ago. Perhaps an hour or so?"

"Oh...I see."  _An_ hour _? Why didn't he come to the dining hall, then?_

"He mentioned that he was returning to his room. We spoke a bit about various things, and he left shortly after admitting that he felt ill," Master Arngeir explained.

Concerned, she bowed and thanked Master Angeir, before heading back to hers and Vilkas' rooms. When she stood in front of Vilkas' door, she rapped her knuckles lightly against the metal. There was no response, and she couldn't hear any sound coming from inside. Even after a few seconds had passed, there was still no response.

"Vilkas?" she called out, albeit in a hushed tone.

Still nothing.

Her concern grew, and she cinched her eyebrows together before slowly pushing the door open and slinking her way into the room. It was dimly lit; the only source of light was coming from the candle on the nightstand. For most people, the room would likely have been too dark to see anything. But Lisara had spent the past six years living in darkness, and could see perfectly fine.

Vilkas' bed was empty, and when she continued to scan the room, she finally spotted him standing in front of his washbasin. The candlelight reflected off of the water droplets that dripped down his exposed back, and his muscular arms were braced on either side of the tall table. His shoulders were tense, the muscles drawn tightly together, and he didn't seem to have noticed her entrance.

"Vilkas? Are you all right?" she quietly asked—so that she wouldn't catch him off guard—and paused just beside his bed.

He looked at her over his shoulder, though the rest of his body remained still. In a low voice, he asked, "What are you doing in here?"

She cringed at the gruff, unwelcoming tone of his voice. "I was worried when you didn't show up for dinner. Master Arngeir mentioned that you'd felt ill earlier, and I just wanted to know if you were okay…" She trailed off, now thinking that it might have been a bad idea to simply barge into his room.

Slowly, he turned and stared into his water basin again. Nearly a minute passed by and when he still hadn't said anything else, Lisara took a step towards him. "Vilkas?"

With a huff, he whirled around and darted forward, capturing her arms in his tight, almost painful grip. His skin was uncomfortably warm, and she wriggled in his grasp, trying to get away from the searing heat radiating from his palms. She leaned back to ask him what his problem was, but fell silent when she saw the light sheen of sweat on his face. Master Arngeir had been right—Vilkas did not look well.

Before she had a chance to reiterate her question, he pushed her and she fell back onto his bed. A brief flash of fear shot through her at his uncharacteristically rough behavior, and the terse, dark look on his face didn't help either. He stepped forward, and she mumbled, "Vilkas, I don't know what's wrong with you, but you need to see a healer. You don't look well."

He responded with a heavy scoff. "I am far from well, but no healer can aid me."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She felt even more confused than she had earlier, thanks to his vague wording. Vilkas took another step forward, and she lifted her legs onto the bed before scrambling back against the wall.

She held out her hands, imploring him to stop. "Vilkas, please…"

Somehow, that had worked. He paused in his advances and tilted his head at her, before asking, "Are you  _afraid_  of me, Lisara?"

"No, I'm just confused at the way you're  _acting_. This isn't you, and I don't know what's causing it, but—"

"You wouldn't believe me, even if I told you." He leaned back and brushed the long strands of his hair out of his face. His movements were jerky, and uncoordinated—so unlike the Vilkas she knew.

Now that he stood directly in front of the light, she noticed that the perspiration on his face wasn't just there; his entire body was glistening with sweat. She found that odd, considering High Hrothgar was at the very tip of the mountain. It was colder at the summit than it was at the base, so why was he so hot? Was he running a fever of some sort?

He took a step closer, and her gaze shot up to his. When she saw his eyes, she sucked in a sharp breath. Normally, his irises were a pale shade of blue, but they were nearly silver again, and the flickering candlelight reflected back to her as if she were looking straight into a mirror. It definitely wasn't the first time she'd noticed the change, and she wondered what caused it.

Bracing himself on the edge of the bed, he crawled towards her. The featherlight touch of his fingers on her ankle elicited goosebumps along her skin, and she let out a shaky breath at the almost ticklish sensation. He traced his hand up along her calf, and when he lightly stroked the back of her knee, she couldn't hold back the quiet moan that escaped her.

Filled with both confusion and desire, Lisara weakly tried to appeal to Vilkas again. "Don't you think you should rest, Vilkas? I mean, I'm not saying this is a  _bad_  idea, but you seem ill and—"

Just like before, when she'd tried to talk to him about his condition, he cut her off. "I can rest afterwards."

"I—Yes, you could most definitely rest afterwards," she rambled, a bit overwhelmed at his forwardness. His fingers ghosted farther up her leg, and when he tried to move them closer to the inner part of her thigh, she sucked in a breath and froze. She didn't know why she froze, because she couldn't deny that she wanted this, but it was all so unexpected that she wasn't entirely sure how to react.

As if he sensed her hesitancy, he removed his hand. "You can't tell me that you don't desire me."

Embarrassed, Lisara averted her gaze and stared at the dark fabric of her tights instead. "I...I've never explicitly said that I do."

"You didn't have to," he murmured. "I knew that first night that you desired me from the moment I opened my eyes and found you in my bed."

_What is going on with him? Vilkas would never say that outright—though it's not a lie..._

Indignantly, she met his gaze again and tilted her chin up at him. "You've no proof of that. Being in your bed had nothing to do with desire. It was the easiest way to do my job. People are in their most vulnerable state when they're sleeping; they're unguarded. Again,  _nothing_  to do with desire."

The corner of his mouth curled upwards in a smirk. "Fine, I'll give you that one. But you cannot deny it here and now."

"I...You've no proof of that, either," she repeated.

A low, seductive chuckle left him, and he leaned over, bringing their faces only inches apart. "Oh, but I do," he murmured, before closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath.

When he opened them again, his eyes were so bright, they looked like they were glowing. Lisara wasn't sure what to make of that, considering the candle was starting to die. There was even less light in the room now than there had been when she'd walked in. How could his eyes possibly appear brighter?

"Your scent doesn't lie, Lisara," Vilkas whispered against her ear.

_Scent? What?_

She trembled at the feel of his breath ghosting across her skin, though now it was more from desire than fear. Though she had no doubts about where the night could lead, she needed to know why he was acting this way all of a sudden. She wasn't blind or naive; clearly, they were attracted to each other. He'd been right about the fact that the undercurrent of sexual tension between them had been building since that first night in his room, but she never thought it would manifest so soon—or here, of all places. What had pushed him over the edge tonight?

To her surprise, Vilkas nipped at her earlobe, and the heady rush of desire shot straight to her lower abdomen. Frantically, she faced him, and her lips brushed against his cheek, he was so close. "Vilkas, I—Why are you doing this? Why here, why now? Why  _me_?"

"So many questions," he replied, sounding a bit irritated. He pulled back a bit and looked her in the eye. "I can't answer them, Lisara. I'm sorry. Perhaps some day in the future, but...not now."

At that, irritation welled up inside of her. "I'm just supposed to accept your advances and not question the reasons that led to this?"

"For now, yes."

She crinkled the side of her nose in displeasure, and he chuckled again. When she opened her mouth to argue with him, he pressed his lips against the side of her neck. Whatever words she'd planned on saying flew out the window, and she closed her mouth with a snap. Gradually, he made his way farther up, planting kisses along her jaw until he reached her lips. After a brief moment of eye contact that stole Lisara's breath, he gently pressed his lips against hers.

The slow burn of desire in her lower belly ignited into a flame that she feared she could not control. With a soft moan, she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, crushing her lips to his. He responded in kind, and within seconds, he had her laying on her back as he straddled her hips.

Their kiss intensified, matching the tension between them. When his tongue slid against the length of her own, she moaned into his mouth, tightening her fingers in his hair. Her reward was a groan from him, and he encircled her waist with his arm, pulling her hips flush with his. The prominent evidence of his arousal pressed into her thigh, and she sucked in a breath in anticipation. Her breathlessness seemed to set Vilkas off even more, and he brushed her hair away from her neck, suckling on the soft skin.

The fact that he was giving her so much pleasure by kissing her neck, which was her preferred location of delivering the killing blow, was not lost on her. It was an odd comparison, and she wondered why she was thinking about that now, of all moments. Perhaps it was because that's where she'd intended on taking his life?

Along the lines of that thought, when Vilkas pulled away, she reached up and traced her fingertips over the bump in his neck. Slowly, she moved her hands to the back of his head and tangled them in his hair. She met his gaze, and a surge of warmth flooded through her when she noticed that his eyes were as heavy-lidded as her own, Clearly, she affected him just as much as he affected her.

When he nudged her legs apart and she wrapped them around his waist, she brushed against his erection, causing him to suck in a sharp breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from her, and she placed her hand against his cheek.

"Vilkas?" Lisara whispered, worried that she'd somehow ruined the moment.

He didn't answer right away, and instead, took a few deep breaths through his nose. Finally, when he looked back at her and opened his eyes, she noticed that his irises were even more luminescent than before. She furrowed her eyebrows in concern, and this time, she placed both of her hands on his face.

"Vilkas...what is going on with you?"

From between clenched teeth, he said, "Nothing. Will you stop asking me that? I'm  _fine_."

"You are very obviously not 'fine'. Are you still feeling ill? We can stop if—"

"Lisara, stop talking."

Her mouth dropped open at his tone, and he took the opportunity to sweep his tongue into her mouth, catching her off guard. For a moment, she tried to refute his ministrations, but the throbbing ache in her core resumed, and she knew it was a lost cause. He was far moodier than usual—than she'd ever seen him, really—and she wanted to know why, but clearly he wasn't planning on talking about it tonight.

Without warning, he pulled them up into a sitting position, and Lisara gasped at the sudden movement. His hands glided under her linen tunic, and his fingertips traced along her sides. The feel of his calloused, rough hands against her skin caused her to shiver, and he knowingly raised an eyebrow at her.

In response, she shot him a heated glare, and he chuckled before undoing her weapons belt and laying it on the ground. His gaze was unwavering as he slowly slid her shirt up and over her head, and for the first time, she was bare before him.

After holding her gaze for a few seconds, his eyes moved down and roved over her body before coming to a stop on her now uncovered breasts. His unmitigated attention caused a wave of uncertainty and uncharacteristic shyness to sweep over her, and she moved to cover her chest with her arms. Gently, he grabbed her wrists and kept her from doing so, raising his eyes to look at her once again.

When he saw the doubtful expression on her face, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. "You shouldn't ever feel like you need to cover up something so beautiful," he murmured.

Tears pricked in her eyes at his surprisingly romantic sentiment, and a small smiled teased at the corners of her lips. He responded in kind before lowering her in his arms, planting his hands against her back to support her weight. Before she could comprehend what was happening, he clamped his mouth around one of her nipples and swirled his tongue around it. A sharp cry escaped her, and she fisted her hands in his hair again as she threw her head back.

He continued his assault on her breasts, moving from one nipple to the other until she was nearly overwhelmed with pleasure. Eventually, he lowered her onto the bed completely, and she practically purred as she slid farther up the soft strands against her back. Reaching up, she played with the hem of his shirt for a second before sliding her hands underneath, and lightly running her hands along his hard stomach. Acquiescing to her unspoken request, he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside.

She imagined that what she experienced at the sight of him sitting before her, bare, and vulnerable, was exactly what he'd felt when he'd taken her shirt off. Breathless, she traced her fingers along the defined lines of his muscles, before wrapping her hands around his wide torso. With a coy smile, she pulled against him a bit and he fell forward, supporting his weight on his hands.

Their frantic pace from earlier had faded, and now that they were both naked from the waist up, the mood had changed. Instead of rushing to answer to the call of nature, now it felt as if they should take their time, memorize what the other person looked like underneath all of the layers—both physical and mental. Tentatively, she craned her neck upwards and pressed her lips against his. She felt more than heard his answering groan, and when he slid his tongue into her mouth again, she wrapped her arms around him, trying to pull him closer.

Without breaking away, he shifted his weight onto his arm and moved his hands down to her tights. In a single smooth motion, he pulled them down and off. A cold draft hit her exposed skin, and the realization that she was completely naked before him hit her. Instead of making her shy, as the removal of her shirt had done earlier, the pool of desire in her core heated and she let out a shaky breath.

As if sensing how she felt, Vilkas' eyebrows cinched together, and with rough movements, he pulled off his own pants. When she felt the searing heat of his erection brush against her inner thigh, she reflexively tightened her grip on him, and her fingers dug deeply into his skin. Worried that she'd hurt him, she glanced up into his eyes and was surprised to find that his eyes were shut again. He was squeezing them so hard, the crease in between his eyebrows was a deep groove.

Lisara reached up and ran her finger along the visible tension in his expression, and his eyes snapped open. The sight of his glowing irises stole her breath, and before she could say anything, he crushed his lips against hers and lifted her hips, aligning her core with the tip of his cock.

The feel of him brushing against her slick entrance caused a wave of lightheadedness to wash over her, and she gripped his biceps. "Vilkas...please…"

Underneath her fingers, his muscles were incredibly tense. His entire form was rigid; every single muscle in his body was flexed, strained. It felt like he was holding himself back, worrying about hurting her. When he still hadn't moved a few seconds later, she let out a frustrated groan. She wasn't a porcelain doll; she didn't need to be handled softly. How many times did she need to tell him that?

She tilted her hips, trying to draw him into her depths. When the head of his manhood slid into her, she let out a heady moan, hoping that he would take the hint that she  _did_  want this—she did want  _him_.

What happened instead took her completely by surprise.

Vilkas let out a guttural roar and leapt off of the bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor and sprinting across the length of the room. Disoriented at the sudden loss of his presence, Lisara shot up in bed and stared after him, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Vilkas? What—"

Hastily, he pulled his clothes on, and she noticed his erection straining his trousers. Without meeting her gaze, he hurriedly said, "I'm sorry, Lisara. I have to go. I can't do this—not this way."

He already had his hand around the door handle when she fell out of bed, trying to make her way over to him. "Not  _what_ way? I want this, Vilkas, I—"

"I  _can't_. For Talos' sake, I—I have to go." He pulled the door open so hard, it banged against the rock wall behind it, causing everything on the table nearby to rattle.

Before she was even halfway across the room, he was already out the door and gone from her sight. Lisara was left standing in the middle of the room, completely bare, still incredibly aroused, hurt, and confused beyond belief.

_What...just...happened?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, thanks to StarryNight101 for beta-reading for me! 
> 
> I'm sure many of you noticed that I took a bit of creative liberty with how the fight against Sahloknir started. Figured I'd try to change it up so that it didn't seem so play-by-play. I'm writing a Skyrim story, yes, but it's most definitely not a novelization of the game, so I try to tweak some things to keep it fresh. Also, I know, I'm a cruel person for adding to the sexual tension between these two, but I really wanted to ramp that up and kind of set the tone for the next phase of the story. They've still got lots to do in the main quest, but somewhere in between all that, Lisara's involvement with the Dark Brotherhood will return to haunt her, and obviously, Vilkas' lycanthropy is now a factor in their dynamic. Gracious, their lives are dramatic! On the plus side, hooray for something actually happening between the two of them!
> 
> See you guys next time! Hope y'all are still enjoying it :)


	11. The Reveal

Vilkas didn't return that night or the next morning, much to Lisara's dismay.

After his abrupt departure, Lisara had rushed out into the hall after him only to see the main doors close with a resounding thud. Master Arngeir was standing beside the entrance and when she'd tried to go after Vilkas, the Greybeard had—in a quiet voice that was no less commanding—implored her to stay and give him some space.

"He will return when he feels ready," he'd said.

There had been little else for her to do but wait until Vilkas returned, and so she'd headed back to his room in the hopes that she'd catch him when he did. This wasn't something that they could just move past without addressing what had happened; whether he wanted to or not, they'd  _have_ to talk about it. She knew how difficult it was to share secrets that you'd wanted to keep dormant forever, but they couldn't continue traveling together if this was constantly nagging at her. So many questions had arisen from last night's encounter, and in order to fully trust him again, she needed answers.

By that point, it was past midnight, and Lisara relentlessly fought to resist the persistent waves of sleep that threatened to pull her under. Eventually, sometime just before dawn, she succumbed to the siren call of oblivion. As her eyes slid shut, the last conscious thought she had was of Vilkas.

_What if he doesn't come back?_

* * *

The sound of metal scraping against stone jerked Lisara from the depths of slumber and threw her back into the world of the living. Disoriented, she bolted upright in bed and frantically looked around the room for the source of the noise. Her eyes fell on Vilkas, who was leaning against the closed door and staring down his nose at her from under heavy-lidded eyes. His clothes were covered in dirt, and it looked like there were a few twigs tangled in his already unruly hair. Overall, it looked like he'd gone sprinting through the forest with no regard to the direction or his surroundings, like he'd simply wished to get as far away from her as fast as possible. If the dark rings beneath his eyes were any indication, Lisara surmised that he hadn't slept at all last night.

Well, that made two of them.

They sat there, staring at each other in silence for a few uncomfortable seconds, until Vilkas pushed off of the door and slowly traipsed over to the water basin at the foot of the bed. During the entire time it took him to cross the room, he never once made eye contact with her. She watched him with a passive expression, waiting to see whether he'd be the first one to say something or whether she'd have to do it.

When she heard the water splash in the bowl, she sighed and unfolded her legs, cringing ever-so-slightly when her bare feet hit the cold stone.

"So it's going to be me, then?" she called out to him, her voice reverberating around the room.

He stilled, his shoulders tense as he braced himself on the edge of the basin. Without facing her, he mumbled, "What do you want me to say?"

" _Anything_  would be good at this moment in time."

Instead of a response, he bowed his head, causing his chestnut-colored hair to fall forward and block what little of his profile she'd been able to see. A long, ragged sigh left him, and when he said nothing else, Lisara wondered if perhaps this was where they went their separate ways.

She rose to her feet, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced his back. "I feel like I'm at least owed an explanation, Vilkas. Especially if this is to be where we say goodbye."

With that, he finally spun around to look at her, and his eyes were wide with surprise. " _Goodbye_?"

Frustrated at his obliviousness, she threw her hands up in the air. "Well what  _else_  do you expect me to think? Did you honestly believe that I would just drop it? That you could just walk back in here and expect me  _not_  to ask you what happened last night?"

He let out another drawn-out sigh. "No, but...I'd hoped that would be the case."

"Then you're a bigger fool than I took you for."

That didn't seem to sit too well with Vilkas, because he furrowed his eyebrows and looked away from her.

Overcome with a sense of dejection, Lisara stepped closer to Vilkas, desperately trying to appeal to him. "Vilkas," she implored, "please talk to me. I know how difficult it is to share something personal—it was incredibly hard for me, too. But I believe that whatever the reason is, we can work through it  _together_. But that isn't possible if you don't trust me enough to talk to me.  _I_ trusted  _you_."

Slowly, he faced her once more, though he still didn't say anything. A few seconds passed with the two of them holding one another's gaze until finally, Vilkas gestured to the bed. "You might want to sit down for this."

"Sit down? Why?"

"Just...trust me. It's usually easier to process if one is sitting down."

_I suppose it can't hurt to follow his advice._  "All right, then. I'll humor you." Lisara headed back to the bed and plopped down on the fur covers. Once she was sitting, she gestured to the center of the room.

Vilkas strode forward and stood immediately across from her, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his muscles. Confused, Lisara asked, "What are you doing?"

"You wanted to know why I ran out of the room last night?"

"Well, yes."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. "You've heard of werewolves, yes?"

_What in...?_ "In stories and fairytales, of course. Where are you going with this, Vilkas?"

"You'll see. I just want to make sure that I explain as much as I can beforehand."

"Before what?"

"Will you stop asking questions and let me speak?" he asked, sounding irritated.

She held up her hands in a placating gesture and he continued after letting out a huff. "What I'm about to tell you, you must promise to keep a secret. There are only a handful of people who even know about this, and we want to keep it that way."

Without hesitation, she replied, "I promise."

"I  _mean_  it, Lisara. You must tell  _no one_."

"Vilkas, please. It isn't as if I go around spilling secrets and telling people who it is I work for. I'm rather adept at keeping secrets. I would've thought you'd know that by now."

"Fair enough," he grunted. Slowly, he paced back and forth as he started speaking. "There are a select few amongst the Companions that we call The Circle. Members are added by personal invitation only, and there is a very good reason for that."

Lisara nodded to indicate that she was still listening, and Vilkas continued. "Each member of The Circle is...gifted...with something that enhances our abilities. It isn't something that can be shared with everyone in the Companions because it can be difficult to control. Kodlak calls it 'the beast blood'."

"Beast  _blood_? That can't be good."

Vilkas snorted. "That is an understatement. It's a  _curse_ —though if you were to ask Aela and Skjor, they'd say otherwise."

"Aela and Skjor? So who exactly is in The Circle?"

"Aside from those two, myself, Farkas, and Kodlak."

"What exactly does this 'beast blood' do?"

At that, he halted in place and ran his hands through his hair in a single rough motion. After a few seconds, he turned around and locked eyes with her; his hands were clenched at his sides. She could see the muscle in his jaw twitching even from across the room, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you all right, Vilkas? You seem rather...tense."

"That's because I  _am_  tense. I know that you—I just—" He wrung his hands and frantically gestured at her. "You want to know the reason why I've been distant ever since we met, and the reason why I ran last night. You  _deserve_  to know, and I understand that, but that doesn't mean I  _want_  to tell you. Or that I'm positive that telling you is even a good idea."

"I wasn't positive that telling you about Elias was a good idea, either. In fact, I've  _never_  told anyone about him. No one is ever  _positive_  about sharing a vulnerable piece of themselves. But if you want to continue on together, then I  _have_  to know," Lisara explained.

He ran his fingers through his hair again, but this time, he pulled on the ends and let out a sharp breath. "Fine. But you have to promise not to scream."

" _Scream_?" Lisara echoed, flabbergasted.

"Yes, scream. I would never attack you, I'm sure of that. But I...I know that you will be frightened. You just have to remember that it's  _me_ , and I would never hurt you." Quickly, he crossed the room to stand in front of her and cradled her face in his hands. The gentle brush of his thumb along her cheekbones caused a fresh wave of desire to flush through her, and her eyelids fluttered shut.

"I would  _never_  hurt you," he repeated under his breath, before gently pressing his lips against hers.

The kiss lasted only a moment before Vilkas pulled away and backpedaled to the middle of the room again. "Do you promise not to scream?"

Lisara rolled her eyes and crossed her arms and legs. His pleading seemed overly dramatic, and she doubted whatever 'trick' he was planning on performing wouldn't come close to eliciting a scream from her. "I promise."

Whatever it was he was about to show her, and whatever he'd been spouting about "The Circle" and this "beast blood" business, couldn't be that bad. Honestly, she expected him to pick up the dresser and showcase his "inhuman strength" or something along those lines, like most Nords she'd met. How that was supposed to make her scream, she had no idea, but the entire thing seemed preposterous.

It simply sounded like an excuse for his behavior last night, and it irritated Lisara that he wasn't taking her seriously; that he didn't seem to trust her enough to tell her the truth. As difficult as it had been for her, she'd told him the truth about her brother.

Why couldn't he do the same?

Pained grunting pulled Lisara out of her reverie and when she glanced up, she saw Vilkas peeling off his mud-saturated shirt. He tossed it to the floor, and in a voice filled with confusion and a hint of panic, she questioned, "What are you doing?"

"You'll see—" A grimace interrupted him. "—in a moment."

Next, he stripped his pants off and Lisara felt the heat of a blush creep along her cheeks at the sight of him in just his undercloth. Last night had been intimate—there was no doubt about that—but it was daytime now, and there was no hiding in the shadows. She could see every hair that littered his chest and abdomen, and couldn't help but admire the flex of his strong thigh muscles as he kicked aside his pants.

"Whatever you're showing me requires you to be practically naked?" she tried to joke.

When he nodded with a serious expression, her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh, all right, then," she murmured.

Without warning, he buckled and fell forward, bracing his hands on his thighs. His breath came quicker and it almost sounded like he was fighting to catch it. The muscles of his back were incredibly tense, and from the way the sun hit him, it looked like there was a light sheen of sweat on his skin. His biceps bulged to an inhuman size and he let out another grunt.

Concerned, Lisara rose to her feet and reached her hand out. "Vilkas?"

"Stay back!" he exclaimed, throwing his arm out to dissuade her from approaching him.

Startled, Lisara rocked back onto her heels and held her hands up, heeding his advice. This time, she actually felt that it was warranted; she could hear the alarm in his voice and from his posture alone, she could see that something serious was about to occur. She sat back down on the bed, riddled with apprehension.

Another groan escaped him, and she thought this one sounded much more pained than the last. He curled in on himself even more than before, and an ebony cloud of what appeared to be mist and fog enveloped him, obscuring his frame completely. Lisara's concern grew exponentially at the sight. Mist and fog were generally a milky white, not as dark as the Void. There was no way this was natural, and the small voice at the back of her mind reminded her that Vilkas had asked whether she'd heard of werewolves.

_Why would he ask me that? What is going on?_ Subconsciously, Lisara scooted backwards on the bed until her back hit the wall. She gripped the blankets tightly as her breathing quickened.

When the shroud began to fade, Vilkas unfurled his large body, but he didn't stop where Lisara expected him to. He continued up, and up,  _and up_ , until his silhouette stood nearly a full foot taller than she knew him to be. As the shadowed veil dissipated even more, she saw taloned hands where his once human ones had been, and rich brown fur covered his entire body. Finally, as the fog disappeared completely, she looked into the yellowed eyes that were set deep behind an elongated snout. The sight of his sharp fangs, paired with the deep rumble that came from the beast's chest, pushed her over the edge.

A shrill scream escaped her and the creature lunged forward to slap its paw over her mouth, knocking her head back with the sheer force behind the motion. Its claws grazed her cheek and the sensation caused her to panic even more. Terrified, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to turn away from it. Down to her very core, she believed that it was going to rip her insides out and leave her for dead.

She'd deserve it for being such an idiot.

To her surprise, it nuzzled her with the side of its snout and its whiskers tickled her cheek. With her breaths leaving her in staccato beats, she cracked an eye open and winced when she noticed that the creature had come closer. Its eye was only a few inches away from her face, and she was taken aback when all it did was blink slowly at her. If she'd been a bit less panicked, she might've thought it looked like it was pleading with her.

When it nuzzled her again, she drew her eyebrows together in confusion. At an extremely languid pace, it pulled its paw back, seemingly pleading with her not to scream again. It backed away from the bed before rising to its full height, staring down its snout at her. At the last second, Lisara realized her weapons belt was likely laying on the floor right beside the bed where Vilkas had tossed it aside in the heat of the moment last night. When the beast glanced away from her and back at the door, she leapt off the bed and leaned down, grasping the handle of her dagger and unsheathing it in one fluid motion before darting across the room.

The edge of her blade bit into the creature's thigh, and had it been a normal beast, it would've severed an artery. As her luck would have it, it only served to anger the creature and it spun back around, knocking the dagger out of Lisara's hand with the back of its paw.

She stumbled back, trying to avoid its talons. When it grasped her upper arms in its unrelenting grip, she struggled to break free as another scream threatened to claw its way up her throat. The beast must've realized what she was about to do because it clamped its paw back over her face before shoving her down on top of the bed.

Again, she squeezed her eyes shut in fear, and a tear escaped and slid down her cheek. The beast gradually removed its paw, curling a taloned digit to wipe the tear from her skin. For a mindless beast, it was an uncharacteristically human action, and she looked up at it in surprise. Their gazes locked and it leaned down to nuzzle her chin, albeit slowly so as not to frighten her.

She froze, though it was more of a precaution than anything; her previously stark fear had mellowed into a faint inkling at the back of her mind. It seemed like the creature's close proximity made all of her synapses short-circuit, and she could think of nothing but its presence.

The beast's coarse hair tickled the soft skin of her cheek, and she sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to steel herself for what was to come. When the potent scent of pine trees tinged with the metallic tang of weaponry hit her—weaponry that was well-cared for: oiled regularly, and used with reverence—she let the air in her lungs out in a loud whoosh.

It smelled exactly like Vilkas.

She looked up into its eyes and held its gaze intently when she saw that it was staring down at her with the same level of intensity. After a few seconds of tense silence, it slowly leaned down and nuzzled her cheek again, never breaking eye contact. She breathed in its oddly-familiar scent once more, realizing that her fear of it was now completely gone.

Hesitantly, she reached up and placed her hand on its snout, lightly stroking the rough strands of its fur. It emitted a deep grumble that seemed to come from the depths of its chest, and she chuckled at the predictably masculine response.

Even though a tiny voice at the back of her mind told her that it couldn't be possible, that werewolves were  _not_  real, she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps it truly  _was_  Vilkas. As she continued to pet its fur, she inspected its yellowed eyes, searching for any semblance of humanity.

It gazed back at her like before, but this time, it lowered its eyebrows as if imploring her to believe it—or perhaps that was just her mind filling in the blanks. Quietly, she murmured, "Vilkas? Is that really you?"

Its only response was to nuzzle her cheek again. She leaned back to put a bit more space between them, then reached up and cradled its cheek. It leaned into her touch, and she knew then with utmost certainty that it  _was_  Vilkas.

"I don't believe it." She let out a small chuckle when he nudged her hand aside in what she assumed was irritation.

"How did this happen to you?" she asked. When he let out a huff through his teeth, she added, "I suppose it was stupid of me to ask when you can't speak."

Vilkas nodded, which elicited a smile from Lisara. In some form of animal instinct, he must've understood that she no longer thought he was a threat. He leaned back and shifted his weight onto his good thigh, leaning down to cradle the gash in his other leg.

Her gaze followed his motions, and she cleared her throat before pointing to the wound. "Sorry. You took me a bit off guard."

He grunted and straightened with an odd expression on his face. It wasn't the easiest thing, trying to figure out emotions on an animal's face, so she tried to decipher his body language instead. His ears were pointed forward, though they weren't perked, which meant that he wasn't on alert—simply focused on something. His shoulders were back and his posture open, but before she could wonder what exactly that meant, he crumpled forward and cradled his wide frame with his arms.

Worry flooded through her, and she questioned, "Vilkas? What's going on?"

Her only response from him was another grunt, and this time it was pained like it had been when he'd initially transformed. She rose from the bed but stayed beside it, in case he told her to keep her distance like he had before.

Another cloud of dark mist enveloped him, but she could see through this one somewhat—enough to see the broad width of his shoulders shrink bit by bit from over seven feet tall to a size that was closer to his usual girth. This transformation didn't take nearly as much time as the first one. When he straightened and the fog had gradually faded down to his chest, a face she recognized stared back at her.

"That's the handsome mug I know," Lisara teased.

Vilkas rolled his eyes in response. Much to her shock, when the fog disappeared from his lower abdomen, she realized he was naked. A gasp escaped her and she whirled around, staring at the wall with wide eyes.

"I didn't know that—I'm sorry, I—" She trailed off, mentally chastising herself for blubbering like an idiot. It wasn't anything she hadn't seen before, but it had taken her by surprise and she hadn't known how to react.

Ruffling sounds came from behind her and a few seconds later, Vilkas laid his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her back around. He'd grabbed his cloth pants from the floor and slid them back on in an attempt to retain his modesty. "It's all right, Lisara. Thank Talos for last night, because that isn't exactly the way I'd like for you to see me in the nude for the first time, hm?"

Briefly, with a chuckle, she glanced down at the floor before meeting his gaze again. "Yes, thank Talos for that…"

"You wanted to talk. Now that you've seen...what it is I have to deal with, do you still wish to do so?"

"More than ever."

Vilkas nodded and gestured to the bed. She accepted his silent invitation and slid back onto the covers as he sat down beside her. In a quiet voice, he started off with, "What do you wish to know?"

Lisara fiddled with her fingers in her lap as she tried to collect her thoughts. She had so many questions; it was difficult to figure out where to start. "Earlier you said...you asked me whether I wanted to know why you'd run out of the room last night. I'm assuming that somehow  _this_  is why?"

"It  _is_  why. The beast blood affects people in different ways, but there are a few things that are standard for most. An inability to sleep is one—"

Lisara interrupted him and asked, "An inability to sleep? Is  _that_  why you're always offering to take first watch? And then you never wake me so that I can take over?"

"Interrupting people is generally considered rude, Lisara," Vilkas joked with a grin. "But yes, that's why."

"So many questions answered," she muttered. "Sorry I interrupted you. Please, continue."

A dry laugh left him at her unnecessary prompt. "As I was saying, in addition to not being able to fall into a deep sleep, it also makes my...I hesitate to say thirst for blood but essentially that's what it is. When I fight, I tend to be more violent than I normally would be. It's difficult for me to stop when the fight is over, because all I crave is more of that rush. That also translates to—" He broke off with a cough, before finishing with, "—ahem, relations with women."

"Are you trying to tell me that you're rough in bed, Vilkas?" Lisara asked, an eyebrow raised sardonically.

"Yes. I am."

Her mouth formed a perfect "o" of surprise; she hadn't expected him to mean that quite literally. When she failed to respond, he cleared his throat and continued his explanation.

"I'm not trying to frighten you away, Lisara. I just want you to know what you might be getting into. Last night, I—I was afraid that I would lose control with you. That's why I ran out of here. The members of The Circle are werewolves, yes, but our curse is a bit different from the standard affliction; the full moon does not affect our ability to turn. It does, however, strengthen some of the urges that we try to keep at bay. One of those being desires of the...carnal sort.

"I didn't trust myself to handle you the way that I normally would—the way that you deserve. A moment that intimate shouldn't be clouded by a problem—a  _curse_ —that I need to deal with on my own," he finished with a grimace.

At that, Lisara shook her head fervently as she faced him head-on. She reached out and slid her fingers into his, intertwining them. When he glanced down at their joined hands, then back up at her, she said, "You don't  _have_  to deal with it on your own, Vilkas. I know that you feel like you do, that this is a shameful burden you can't share with anyone else, but that isn't true!"

He scoffed and looked away from her, focusing his gaze on the floor beside the bed. Refusing to feel discouraged at his obvious dismissal of her statement, she reached up and cradled his cheek before gently turning his head back. "Vilkas, I'm serious. It means a lot to me that you shared this with me. I know it can't have been easy. My little secret significantly pales in comparison to yours," she tried to joke.

When the corner of his lips twitched upwards, she continued with renewed hope. "I'm always here if you feel like you need to talk about it. If one day in particular is more difficult than usual, or if you can't sleep and feel frustrated,  _wake me up_."

His eyes dropped to their hands again, and she tightened her grip to get his attention. "Promise me that you won't deal with this alone."

A few seconds passed with no response, and she squeezed his hand once more. "Vilkas? Promise me."

"All right, all right. By the Nine, you're persistent. I promise," he muttered.

A smile overtook Lisara's face and she pulled her hand out of his before bounding off the bed. "Good. Now get up! We've a journey to continue on!"

Vilkas rolled his eyes before rising to his feet as well. "And suddenly, you are annoyingly optimistic."

* * *

_Three hours later._

With their bags packed and their goodbyes said, Lisara and Vilkas left High Hrothgar and set out for Riverwood. Their original plan had been to stop by Whiterun before heading out to meet up with Delphine, but since it was in the opposite direction, Vilkas voted in favor of heading straight south.

When their business with the last remaining Blade was finished, they could return home then.

They'd only been on the road for about thirty minutes before their horses' ears flickered to the west in response to something that neither Lisara nor Vilkas could hear yet. Shadowmere began shifting his weight and leaning forward, eager to move along at a faster pace. Unlike his usual enthusiasm for a brisk ride, this time, he was far more tense, which caused Lisara to worry.

"How's your hearing?" she asked Vilkas who had come to a stop beside her.

"Not as good as when I'm in beast form. I can only transform once a day though, and I already used that up this morning."

She hummed in response before pulling on Shadowmere's reins, turning them both to face west. "So you can't hear what they hear?"

"No. Doesn't mean we can't be prepared," he muttered, unsheathing his sword from his back.

She tilted her head in agreement before unhooking her bow from her saddle. After quickly unattaching the quiver from the opposite side and hoisting it onto her back, she nocked an arrow and waited with bated breath for a sign of what was coming. Vilkas clicked his tongue at his mount and they slowly edged forward; his head gradually moved from side to side as he kept watch for the first sign of movement.

When he was quite a ways ahead of her, he came to a stop and stared off into the distance for nearly a minute before starting to turn back around. He was only partially facing her when an arrow whizzed past her and struck Vilkas' mount in the front left leg. His horse reared up in pain, and he nimbly leapt off its back to avoid being thrown to the ground.

As he recovered, Lisara jerked Shadowmere's reins to the left and then pulled her bowstring back to retaliate. However, she couldn't see who had shot the arrow and scanned the treeline in the distance, hoping that she could find them before they attacked again. Much to her irritation, another arrow zoomed past her, nearly grazing her arm.

She let out a shocked gasp before looking back at the treeline again. "Stupid move on your part," she mumbled, taking aim and letting the arrow fly towards its target. Thanks to the second shot, she knew exactly where it had come from this time.

A thump came from the forest, followed by the rustle of leaves, and Lisara nudged Shadowmere into a sprint. Just before they reached the trees, she swung him to the side and hopped off, rolling as she hit the ground. When she straightened, she dove into the forest and ran in the direction of where the arrows had come from. Only a few seconds later, she emerged in an empty clearing that was in the exact area that she knew the archer had to have been. She inspected the area for clues, and when she saw a discarded bow lying next to a bush that was smaller than all the rest, she knew she was in the right place. The only problem was that the archer was already gone.

A discouraged sigh left her, and she propped her hand on her hip as she turned around to gaze behind her. In the opposite direction, across the clearing, she heard someone trampling through the underbrush and whipped her head around.

"Got you," she whispered to herself before sprinting off in the direction of the sound.

As she hurried through the trees and used her arm to block errant branches from whipping her in the face, she finally saw the silhouette of a man up ahead. Pushing her legs to run faster, she gained a bit of ground and eventually, he was only a few feet in front of her. He glanced back over his shoulder at her as he ran, eyes wide with apprehension, before facing forward again. While she continued to run after him, she hastily pulled another arrow from her quiver and shot it at him, cursing under her breath when it missed him by mere inches—he'd ducked, she was sure of it.

When she tried again, she managed to nick him in the right thigh, causing him to stumble enough for her to finally catch up to him. Because she was so slight in comparison to Nords, she often had to use either significant momentum to take them down, or a few well-placed arrows—if her daggers weren't an option. She was far too close for her to unleash a volley of arrows, and her daggers wouldn't be entirely useful until she had him pinned down, so she opted for a tackle instead.

Throwing her weight into him with all of the momentum she'd gained sent the two of them sprawling onto the forest floor. When he tried to scramble to his feet and run away, she unsheathed her dagger and dug it into his calf to prevent him from doing so. He let out an agonized howl and she used the distraction to sweep her leg under him, causing him to crash back down to the ground.

Without wasting a second of her newfound-opportunity, she rolled over onto him and held her blade to his throat. Instantly, he froze, and gazed up at her with wary eyes.

"Who are you, and why did you attack us?" Lisara demanded.

Her only response was a seedy glare, and frustrated with his lack of response, she sank her blade deeper into the thin skin of his neck. A small bead of blood crested over the metal, and she could feel him swallowing hard.

"Abominations should not be allowed to roam this world," he spat.

Confused, Lisara echoed, "Abominations? What are you—"

She was interrupted by the man attempting to sit up, which ended up driving the blade farther into his neck. Shocked, she tried to pull back, but he surprisingly held her wrist in place.

"I would rather die by your blade than be torn apart by  _him_. Unfortunately for your  _friend_ , my brothers will see that he is dealt with. That revenge is enough for me." He then swiftly jerked his head to the side, effectively cutting his own throat.

Lisara reeled back onto her heels and leapt away from him as she watched him bleed out onto the dirt. He held her gaze the entire time he sputtered, fighting for air that they both knew he wouldn't be able to hold in his lungs again. Finally, when his eyes fell flat and empty, she rose to her feet and sheathed her dagger.

"By Sithis, when you think you've seen it all," she mumbled. "What did he mean by 'brothers'?"

To her right, a loud cry resonated through the trees. Sharply, she faced that direction and tried to hear what was going on back on the plains. With one last glance back at the armored man who now lay dead on the ground, she turned around and sprinted through the trees, back towards the plains.

Within a couple of minutes, she burst through the treeline and spotted Vilkas a few feet away, trying to fend off four men. At first sight, she thought they were bandits and relief flooded through her at the knowledge that he could handle them. However, when one of them nicked Vilkas in the forearm with a small dagger, he stumbled to the ground, cradling the wound. His chest was heaving and even from where she stood, it looked like he was sweating profusely.

"Vilkas!" she cried in reflex, though she knew as soon as she did that she should've kept quiet.

He glanced up at her as she started to run in his direction, and the men he'd been fighting against followed suit. Frantically, he swept his hand to the side and shouted, "Lisara! Don't! Stay back!"

Angered at the bandits and fearful for Vilkas' well-being, she unsheathed her daggers as she continued to sprint towards them. Once she reached them, the man nearest to her swung his broadsword up and brought it back down, aiming at her head. She deftly rolled to the side and slightly behind him, reaching up to slice the back of his knee. When he crumpled, she stabbed up and under his rib cage, pushing his body aside after pulling out her dagger. After straightening, she whirled around to deal with the rest of the group.

She'd barely met Vilkas' gaze before his eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something. Before he had a chance to speak, a sharp jab of pain in her lower abdomen caused her to glance down in surprise. When the initial twinge began to radiate outwards, she touched her fingers to her armor. Her gloved fingers glistened in the light when she pulled them away; they were tainted crimson, and a few drops fell from her fingertips to the ground. Confused, she looked back up at Vilkas only to find him staring at her in wide-eyed shock.

Though she knew she shouldn't move in order to prevent the wound from bleeding too much, she tried to take a step towards him and ended up falling to her hands and knees. It must've prompted him to finally react, because he started shouting her name and straining against the bandit who had bound his hands while she'd been stabbed.

"...sara! ..is...ra!"

Everything was blurry now, and slowly, the edges of her vision began to fade. She continued to stare at Vilkas' face without truly seeing him. His mouth was wide, and he was shouting so loud, the veins in his neck were strained and bulging. It was odd, because she couldn't hear him—she couldn't hear  _any_ thing. With glazed eyes, she watched him elbow his captor and attempt to break free. The bandit yanked on the end of the rope and Vilkas fell backwards. She tried to reach her hand out towards him, but it felt like it weighed twenty stones and she let it fall.

Finally, she collapsed to the ground. Above her, the wide expanse of the nearly cloudless sky captivated her for reasons unknown. Her mind drifted, unable to focus on anything besides the bright shade of blue so high above her. A hand reached for her, and its massive size filled her vision completely. Before she lost consciousness,the last thing she heard before the entire world fell away was the sound of Vilkas' voice.

"Lisara!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to StarryNight101 for beta-reading and helping me remember things about my own story that I can't seem to keep track of :P
> 
> Thank you to everyone who still reads this story! I always love to hear from my readers, so don't be shy! But of course, there's never any obligation :3
> 
> See you guys next time :)


	12. The Silver Hand

It was cold, that much she knew. As she drifted on the brink of consciousness, the sound of water dripping incessantly echoed throughout her dreams. It was difficult to tell whether her mind was conjuring up the sound, or whether it was real and coming from someplace nearby. Occasionally, a deep rumble that sounded suspiciously like a growl would permeate the veil over her senses. The sound reminded her of Vilkas' transformation and it sparked an image of him laying on the ground, tortured and broken.

It haunted her.

At the back of her mind, the ever-present throbbing of pain continued to assault her. It stemmed from the wound on her back, but she could do little to address the discomfort. She wasn't conscious enough to roll away from the sensation, but nor was she unconscious enough to ignore it. Instead, it was her only companion as she swam through the darkness of her mind.

What felt like years later, the heaviness holding her eyelids down finally lessened, and she fought to open them. At first, her vision was blurry and all she could see were swirling colors: the fiery red and gold of a flickering torch across the room, the bleak, muted mossy stone beneath her body. Her head pounded and when she tried to sit up, it felt like her body was being pulled back down by the heaviest of weights. It also didn't help that the dull ache from her wound was now sharpening into a pain significantly more acute.

The clanking of what sounded like metal chains came from her right, and to her surprise, Vilkas' voice called out to her—though he sounded just as weak as she felt.

"Lisara, you're awake. Thank Talos," he breathed, his voice saturated with relief.

Her arms trembled as she supported her weight on her hands. Unable to find the strength to hold her body up any longer, she scooted back and fell against the bars of her cage. Her head lolled to the side and she met Vilkas' eyes through the bars, letting out her own sigh of relief at the sight of his face.

"I suppose I am. How long have I been out?" she questioned, her voice cracking from lack of use.

Vilkas opened his mouth to respond, before his eyes dropped to the floor and he closed it with a snap. She watched him as he tried to figure out the answer to her question, and her eyebrows gradually drew closer together as it appeared to be physically painful for him to think. It was then that she took in the rest of his appearance, and sucked in a sharp breath at what finally registered.

His cheeks were gaunt and sallow, and the high ridge of his cheekbones were more prominent than she'd ever seen them. The skin under his eyes was dark, and the shadows thrown across his face from the torchlight told her just how much he was suffering from what appeared to be malnutrition. His previously soft, gleaming chestnut hair was now drab, tangled, and stringy.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, her eyes traveled lower.

Every inch of his skin was covered in bruises, and what wasn't was coated in dried blood or still-open wounds. Many of the wounds were puckered—infected—and she cringed to think of what had been done to him. Shoulders that had once been enormously wide were now slender and hunched, and his frame wasn't nearly as hefty as it had been before. They'd taken his armor and weapons, and left him in nothing more than his loincloth.

Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of a once strong man who now sat before her with a body so incredibly broken and abused. His condition would've needed weeks to manifest; it was impossible for her to have been unconscious for that long, and still remain alive.

As soon as that thought flitted across her mind, the pain in her lower back flared to life. She shot up from the bars as a strained groan left her lips. Vilkas' eyes darted back up to her, and he frantically asked, "What is it? Are you all right?"

After taking a few deep breaths, the pain subsided a little, though it didn't disappear completely. With an exorbitant amount of effort, she twisted her arm around and slid it up her shirt, feeling the skin of her lower back. Her fingers drifted across a puckered scar and when she raised her fingers to look at them, they were covered in a shiny, clear substance that was tinged with the faded vibrancy of her blood.

It was an odd experience—seeing her own blood versus the blood of her victims. But it told her that she'd been out long enough for the blood near the wound to congeal; instead of the vivid crimson of a fresh cut, her blood was closer to a muted brown.

It wasn't until she took a few more breaths that she looked at Vilkas again. "I'm...I'll live. Are _you_ all right?"

He shot her a wry grin as he adjusted himself on the ground. "I've been better, lass, that's for sure."

She nodded in response to his reassurance, though she knew his condition was far worse than he let on. A cursory glance at their surroundings revealed that they were in a circular room that was filled with a plethora of other cages, though she couldn't see any of their fellow inhabitants.

After looking back over at him, she asked, "Where are we?"

His head fell back against the bars of his own cage. As his eyes drifted to the door on the other side of the room, he stated, "Some dark, muggy cavern that serves as the Silver Hand's burrow hole."

"Silver Hand?" she echoed, gripping the bars to pull herself upright so that she could turn around and face him head-on. After sitting back on her calves, she looked up at him. "Is that who attacked us?"

He grunted his affirmation, and his pale eyes shifted back to meet hers once more. Even though he'd clearly been through hell, the shrewdness of his eyes hadn't faded. Again, her gaze flickered over his emaciated form, and when she looked back up at him, he offered a grim smile. "They don't particularly like werewolves. Hence their name—and my condition."

" _They_ did this to you?"

Without a word, he nodded and let his eyes slide shut. He seemed exhausted, and it wasn't hard to guess why. Lisara wanted answers, but it didn't seem right to pester Vilkas for them. Not when he clearly needed rest.

As she sat there and tried to focus on his figure in the distance, her vision blurred again. She swayed in place, locking her arms so that she remained holding onto the bars and didn't fall over onto the cold dungeon floor. The sound of linen brushing against the ground reached her ears, and when she blinked a few times to re-focus, she saw that Vilkas now sat closer, just on the other side of the bars of his own cage.

His eyebrows were furrowed in concern as he stared over at her. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was then that the sound of a door jolting open echoed throughout the room, interrupting him before he ever had the chance to say a single word.

Drained of energy and overcome with more pain than when she'd first woken, Lisara rested her head against the bars. With her eyes closed, she listened to the heavy footsteps of whoever had stepped into the room. As the footsteps neared, the jingling of multiple keys rang out. When the sound stopped, she cracked an eye open and saw the fuzzy outline of a wide-set man in silver armor standing at the door to her cage.

He inserted the key into the lock and she straightened, wary of his reason for entering her cell. Beside her, Vilkas shuffled in place and called out, "Lisara, don't let him take you."

Out of the corner of her mouth, she muttered, "I'm not exactly in a position to fight back, remember?"

It was likely that he knew she was right, because his only response was a short, frustrated sigh. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by her cell door swinging open with a squeal. Their jailer stomped into her cell with heavy footsteps, and she pressed herself back against the bars even more. Her weapons were confiscated, and she was in no physical condition to fight hand-to-hand. The knowledge of her helplessness frightened her. It had been so long since she'd felt _real_ fear.

Now that the mountain of a man was standing just in front of her, she could see the thick, rich fur pelt adorning his shoulders. Considering everything that Vilkas had told her about them so far—which admittedly wasn't much—she shuddered at the thought of where the pelt had probably come from.

He reached down and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet with rough hands. Quickly, he pulled her arms behind her back and tied them together with what felt like a linen cloth. The jostling movement sent a ripple of pain through her lower body, and a painted gasp escaped her. When their jailer glanced down at her with a sneer, she clenched her jaw in an attempt to remain as quiet as possible. It was difficult to ignore the throbbing pain, however, and she tried to take deep breaths.

Vilkas must've scrambled to his feet while the man had been dragging her out of her cage, because he was now at the other end of his _own_ cage, hands wrapped tightly around the bars. His knuckles were white, he was hanging onto the steel barrier so hard.

"Leave her and take me, you disgusting wretch," he spat in their direction, eyes alight with hatred as he stared their jailer down.

The man's deep, booming laughter resonated through Lisara as he cackled at Vilkas. "I may be a 'disgusting wretch', but it is nothing compared to you and your friends—abominations, the lot of you. Since you are being uncooperative, we figured a little bit of _incentive_ may help."

His response must've confused Vilkas, because he cinched his eyebrows together—though it didn't lessen the intensity of his glare. If anything, it only served to heighten it.

Lisara had been so distracted with looking at Vilkas, that when her captor roughly threw her into a chair, the wind flew out of her lungs. She gasped for air as she watched the man circle her once, before stepping down from the small platform in the center of the room. He made his way over to Vilkas' cage, pulling the keyring from the belt around his waist again.

She took the opportunity to glance around the room; there must be some way out of their predicament. If there was, she'd find it. There was no way either of them were going to die in this rank mudhole.

To her left, the door that he'd come through was propped slightly open. Through the opening, she could see the slight glow of more lit torches, though it was impossible to tell which direction the tunnel went. Aside from that door, there was no other entrance to the dungeon, which meant they'd have to somehow bypass this guard to make it out of the room.

As her eyes flitted away from the door, she finally noticed the many pikes that lined the room—pikes that held the severed heads of werewolves at their tip, stained completely through with dried blood. The expressions on the dead wolves' faces would've terrified anyone else, with their bared teeth and glossed over eyes, but all Lisara could see was Vilkas' face in his wolf form.

His eyes were so unlike the eyes of his dead comrades.

His held an abundance of emotion, a deep, profound understanding of her that surpassed the already potent perception that existed in his human form. It was a softer side to him, a side driven by a natural instinct that he, apparently, had fought so hard to hide from her.

That moment of clarity sent a surge of determination coursing through her, and she faced forward again, glaring at their jailer's back. She wouldn't let Vilkas be one of their victims.

If one of them could distract their jailer enough, the other one might be able to grab one of the spears from the ground to attack him with. Either of them would make little work of him in their healthy, normal condition, but with the way they both were right now, she knew it would be a challenge.

She could only hope that they'd both survive it.

When the Silver Hand member dragged Vilkas onto the platform and threw him down at Lisara's feet, the door to the dungeon swung open again with a creak. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that another armored man had entered the room, likely to help the first one with what she assumed was going to be an interrogation.

_As if one wasn't enough of a problem_ , she thought with an inward sigh.

With a groan, Vilkas pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked up at her with hooded, tired eyes, and she surreptitiously glanced over at the row of stakes along the wall. After following her gaze, he glanced back at her and subtly nodded in agreement.

Now that she knew he was on board, they had to figure out a way to get over to the edge of the room—all without saying a single word to each other. Another jolt of pain stabbed her in the back and she bent over at the waist, sucking in a breath at the sharp sensation. A few seconds later, she straightened and glanced down at Vilkas, nodding that she was all right when she saw the silent question in his eyes.

They'd have to hurry if they wanted to make it out of here in one piece. Since she'd woken up, the pain was steadily intensifying, and she worried about what would happen if they waited too long.

By then, both of the men were heading back their way, and Vilkas scooted closer to her in a vain attempt to protect her from them. One of the men snorted at his chivalry, and when they stood in front of them, the recent addition grabbed Vilkas and dragged him to the side so that he sat directly across from Lisara. Vilkas grunted and tried to pull out of the other man's grasp, but it only served to anger their captor and he yanked back on Vilkas' hair, forcing him to glare in Lisara's direction.

The first, burlier man who'd dragged her out of her cage stalked around her, trailing his fingers along her arm as he moved behind the chair. She wriggled away from the uncomfortable, unfamiliar touch, and he chuckled before fiddling with something that she couldn't see. It sounded like he was unfurling a pack of material, and the rustling of the fabric confused her.

Vilkas watched him with sharp eyes, grunting every time the other man tugged on his hair to keep his head up. Anxious for something to happen, whatever that might be, Lisara sought his gaze in an attempt to calm herself. When he met her eyes, a wave of calm swept over her and for a brief moment, the pain in her back faded ever-so slightly. That was, until his pale eyes shifted over her shoulder and widened in shock and fear. Not fear for himself, but fear _for_ her.

She'd barely straightened in her chair when the first man moved back around her, a glowing branding iron held tightly in his hand. There could only be one thing he was planning on doing with that, and she tried to scoot the chair back, away from the searing heat that was fast approaching her body.

"No! I told you, hurt me if you must, but leave her be!" Vilkas cried out, struggling against his captor's grip.

"We already know that would get us nowhere, _wolf_ , as much as it would please me to hurt you. Shut him up, Hulgar, so I can get to work," the first man instructed as he kept his beady eyes on Lisara.

The second man promptly punched Vilkas in the jaw, and his head snapped to the side so fast, she swore his neck could've broken. Thankfully, he faced forward again, and spit out some blood before glaring up at the man with hatred in his eyes.

When her own personal torturer stepped forward, her gaze immediately shifted from Vilkas to him. With equal parts hatred and disgust in her eyes, she watched him approach, tilting her chin up in defiance when he lifted the branding iron.

"Now, little miss, you're going to tell us how many members are in this blasted Circle of yours," he demanded.

"I'm not part of the Circle; I wouldn't know," Lisara deadpanned.

Briefly, he grinned, and it took her off guard—until the smile morphed into something far more sinister. He answered by slapping her across the face, and her chair nearly toppled over from the force of the blow. Frantically, she swung her legs down and the chair fell flat onto its legs again, throwing her forward. Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath, and her cheek stung from the impact.

"Don't make me do that again," he threatened, leaning down to hold the iron right over her chest. "Tell me how many!"

Lisara closed her eyes, pretending to count in her head when really, she was forming a plan. If she could manage to take the pain of the searing heat for long enough, Vilkas might be able to overwhelm his captor without her own hearing the tussle. She'd simply have to scream loud enough to block out the background noise.

She opened her eyes and looked over the man's shoulder at Vilkas, who was staring at her with wide, horrified eyes. Quickly, she flicked her gaze to the pikes and back, and he continued to stare at her, though now it was more incredulous than afraid. With one last glance above his head at "Hulgar", she finally looked back at her own problem.

"I...do not...know," she repeated slowly, adding in a derisive raise of her eyebrow so that he'd think she was implying he was too daft to understand.

He took the bait, and just before the blazing steel touched her skin, she glanced at Vilkas again, praying that he'd understand that this was the distraction they'd been hoping for. The second the iron touched her chest, she screamed and threw her head back. There was absolutely no need to fake it; the smell of her skin burning paired with the white-hot bite of incredible pain coming from just over her heart completely eclipsed the ache in her lower back.

When he pressed the iron even farther into her skin, she tried to squirm back, away from the searing heat. He hadn't anticipated her rapid movement, and her chair fell backwards, crashing against the stone floor. She whimpered at the pain that was radiating from her chest, and almost didn't hear the roar of anger that came from Vilkas as he tackled her torturer.

They tumbled down beside her, and Vilkas reared up to punch the other man. She watched with hazy eyes as he pummeled their captor's face, blinking rapidly in an attempt to re-focus her vision. Finally, her eyes cleared and she stared over at Vilkas next to her.

One hit, then two, and when Lisara realized that he had no intent on stopping, even though the man had passed out, she cried out, "Vilkas! Stop! He's unconscious!"

Vilkas paused in mid-swing, glaring down at the bloody remains of their other captor. His eyes were crazed and bright with adrenaline, and he quickly clambered off of the other man's body before rising to his feet. He stumbled and fell back against the table that had been behind and to the side of her chair, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Because he was in no condition to have taken part in a full-on brawl, he crumpled in on himself as the adrenaline quickly faded, leaving him running on fumes.

Lisara wasn't any better off. Now, her chest was throbbing, and her undershirt felt wet against her skin; her wound must have re-opened when she'd landed on her back. When she tried to wriggle out of her wrist bindings, it only served to cut off her circulation more, and she let her eyes close as her head fall back against the chair.

A few seconds of silence passed before Vilkas staggered over to her. His cold fingers against her skin made her jump, and when her eyes flew open, he rubbed her shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"You didn't have to do that," he muttered, his eyes darting to the new wound on her chest.

"Yes, I did. It worked, didn't it?" she tried to tease as he rolled her over slightly to untie her wrists. It fell flat when her voice nearly gave out, and Vilkas hurried to untie her hands so that she could sit up.

The second the cloth fell away, the blood rushed down into her hands, bringing an extremely uncomfortable prickling sensation with it. She moaned as she sat up, rubbing her wrists as she glanced around the room.

Their other captor lay incapacitated at the base of the platform, and when she looked closer, she realized he was actually dead; Vilkas had stabbed him through the chin with one of the stakes. With a slight tilt of her head, she looked away from the corpse and back at Vilkas. Though he wasn't in the best condition either, he still had a wry grin on his face that told her he wasn't the slightest bit sorry.

Together, they rose to their feet on shaky legs. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he draped an arm over her shoulder. Supporting each other, they made their way to the open door, pausing in the frame to glance out into the hallway.

"Looks clear," Vilkas mumbled under his breath.

"Then let's find our things and get out of here before they notice we're gone."

They stumbled down the dingy hallway, pausing before every open doorway to check for more enemies. It was slow progress, but eventually, they came to a doorway towards the end of the hall that had a triumphant grin spreading across Vilkas' face.

"Looks like it's our lucky day, lass," he noted, his eyes gleaming with hope.

"I'd hardly call capture, injury, and torture a _lucky_ day, but I'll humor you." She moved out from under his arm and shuffled into the doorway. When she saw that they'd come to the Silver Hand's makeshift armory, a matching grin graced her own face. "It _is_ our lucky day—or at least, it is _now_."

Quickly, they made their way into the room and separated, heading to opposite sides in the hopes of finding their stolen weapons sooner rather than later. Lisara's daggers were more ostentatious than others, and it didn't take her long to find the dark steel weapons, veined through with a disturbing shade of maroon.

She'd been halfway through turning around to ask Vilkas if he'd found his greatsword yet, when his sharp hiss traveled across the room. As fast as she could with her injury, she made her way over to him. He was shaking his hand quickly—as if he were trying to lessen the sting of a burn—when she sidled up to him.

"Damn it all!" he mumbled, trying to stay quiet.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he grunted, shifting to the side as he continued to search for his weapon. "Touched a sword I thought was mine, and the handle was laced with silver."

Though she had no idea how silver felt on a werewolf's skin, she cringed at the obvious pain it had caused. When she glanced over at the other side of the room, next to the table her own daggers had been on, a familiar pommel rested against the stone wall.

Pointing to it, she asked, "Is that it over there? It looks like it has the same leather you wrap yours with."

Vilkas glanced over his shoulder and when his eyes lit up, she knew she'd been right. With hurried movements, he crossed the room and grabbed his sword, lifting it into the air with a fond expression on his face. The moment passed, and he bent down to grab her pack off of the floor. Whoever had stripped them of their gear had carelessly stuffed their armor into the bag, and quickly, he dispensed their appropriate sets. Immediately after they'd gotten dressed, he was leading her out of the armory and back into the hallway.

They crept along the remainder of the path, and Lisara hoped that the last doorway on their right led to the great area. It was typical for the main hall of a building to have direct access to the entrance, and she assumed that the common area likely had a hallway or tunnel that led to the exit.

The faint sounds of metal clashing against metal echoed through the space, gradually increasing in volume as they neared the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder at her in concern, and she shrugged in response.

If the Silver Hand wanted to fight amongst themselves, she had no qualms about that. On the other hand, if it was an enemy of theirs and they were thinning the ranks, it simply made for less for them. After all, an enemy of their enemy was a friend, and she didn't think either of them could take the strenuousness of a battle. At least, not right now.

When they stood just before the archway, Vilkas kneeled and listened to the sounds, waiting for them to abate before he peered around the corner like he'd been doing earlier. Lisara crouched down behind him, and the stretching of her back pulled her wound in an extremely painful way. She cried out, but muffled the sound by clapping her hand over her mouth.

As she teetered on her toes, her hand shot out and she planted it on Vilkas' back to keep herself steady. He glanced over his shoulder at her in concern, but she shook her head to answer his silent inquiry.

A vigorous battle cry came from the other side of the room. It was still somewhat faint, so it clearly didn't come from the main room itself; whoever was fighting their way through the hideout was getting closer. It also sounded like a female, and Lisara wondered who would be crazy enough to venture into a Silver Hand base seemingly without reason.

The edges of her vision dimmed and she swayed again, suddenly overcome with a bout of dizziness. Leaning her head on Vilkas back, she reached behind her to feel the wound on her own back, unsurprised to find that it was bleeding profusely again. Whatever the Silver Hand had done to temporarily heal her, the effects were now wearing off.

"Lisara, what is it?" Vilkas asked under his breath.

"I...I'm bleeding again. I'm just getting a little dizzy. We should hurry," she suggested.

"I'm hesitant to go out there without knowing who's coming." His eyes trailed down the arch of her back, and when he saw the blood seeping through the thin fabric of her shirt, his frown intensified. "But you're right; we need to hurry."

Another battle cry rang out, but this time, it was significantly closer than the last one. Vilkas reached down and grabbed the handle of his sword before gently resting Lisara against the wall.

"I'm going out to meet them. Stay here; I'll come back for you."

She didn't know whether it was the blood loss, or the stress of the past few days, but she panicked at the prospect of being alone. It was ridiculous, and she knew that. She'd been alone since the day Elias had left her behind, and the feeling wasn't unfamiliar. It shouldn't have frightened her, and she hated that it did.

"Wait, wait," Lisara breathed, grasping the end of his sleeve. Perhaps it was the parallel between Vilkas and Elias that caused the spike of fear to shoot through her. She was terrified that he would leave her forever, too, just like her brother had.

Clearly, the blood loss was making her delirious.

He glanced back down at her, weapon at the ready even though he wasn't in any condition to fight, either. When he saw the expression on her face, his own softened, and he crouched down in front of her.

"I will come back, Lisara," he mumbled as he cradled her cheek. "I promise."

Her eyes slid shut as the sound of more clashing metal rang out, and when she nodded, she felt the warmth of his skin slip away.

She kept her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of battle. When Vilkas let out his own cry, albeit weaker than she was used to hearing from him, she grimaced. All she could do at this point, was hope that he'd come back—and she hated that, too.

Ever since Elias had left, she'd made it a point to be the type of woman who never needed a man, or his help. She could carry herself through life just fine, and the fact that she was laying in a dark, dreary stone hallway, waiting for Vilkas to return so they could get the hell out of this place, made her angry.

Not at him, but at herself. How had she let herself get into this situation? She'd been foolish during the fight in the plains. All she could focus on was getting Vilkas out of their hands, and she'd lost her edge; she'd failed to hear the other man sneak up behind her.

How utterly embarrassing. She, a renowned, talented assassin, being stabbed from behind. The irony was not lost on her.

As she ruminated over her failures, a shiver wracked her body. She opened her eyes—which was more difficult than before—and looked down, noting the spreading pool of blood around her. It was odd, because she didn't react to the sight in the slightest. No fear, no panic. She just felt...cold.

Is this how _her_ victims felt in their last moments?

Her eyes were falling shut again when the rapid trample of multiple footsteps approached. Out of the tiny slit of her vision, she saw Vilkas crouch down in front of her again. Beside him stood Aela, in all of her war paint and Nordic glory, and the concern on the other woman's expression didn't register with Lisara either.

"Aela…" She trailed off before looking back at Vilkas again. "Vilkas, you came back."

"I promised you that I would," he said with a tight smile.

After he gestured at Aela frantically, the fiery-haired woman stepped forward. A warm, bright glow enveloped Lisara, and she stared upwards at the sparkling tendrils of magic that slowly dissipated into the air. The dull throbbing that had been emanating from her wound disappeared, but she knew healing her wouldn't be as easy as throwing a single spell at her.

Aela handed Vilkas a corked vial of red liquid. After he guzzled it down and tossed the empty vial aside, he reached down and scooped Lisara up from the floor. Automatically, she wound her arm around his neck and he swept her into the next room. By this point, her eyes had closed completely, and she rested her head against his strong chest.

"Lisara, you've got to stay awake," Aela called out as they bounded up the stone stairs to the exit.

"But...I'm so tired…"

"Lisara, love, look at me," Vilkas murmured.

With a groan, she straightened her neck and peered up into his face. Her eyelids felt incredibly heavy, and her head bobbed back before she tried to force it forward again. Aela raced ahead and pushed open the wooden door that led out into Skyrim, and as the light hit Vilkas' eyes, Lisara was momentarily blindsided with the thought that his eyes were even more beautiful up close.

His hand against her cheek brought her back to the present. "I need you to stay with me, okay? We're going to get you help back in Whiterun," he explained.

"Whiterun? That's...so far," Lisara whispered.

Unable to fight her fatigue any longer, her head lolled to the side and fell against his chest again. A sharp, tense exhale left Vilkas, and the rough bouncing motion of his running intensified. In the background, she could hear Vilkas and Aela speaking to each other, though she couldn't understand them, or even pick out any words.

A few minutes later, just before she completely lost consciousness, a deep, guttural roar reverberated through the plains. The last thing she remembered was the sight of the blue, open sky above her—cloudless and vibrant.

* * *

Warmth cocooned her, pulling her further into its comforting depths. It felt like she was floating on a cloud, drifting aimlessly through her subconscious. As she moved through the void, memories of her childhood floated past her, bright with the childlike wonder people claimed everyone had in their younger years.

She could no longer remember what that felt like.

Laughter multiplied until it was the only sound she could hear. Blurred colors flew by in streams of memories, and she reached out, trying to catch them and relive them once more. Eventually, the brilliant fog dimmed, and the shape of Elias' face came into view.

As she stared at the memory of her brother, and the way he'd looked at the young age of sixteen, she traced the sloping lines of his features with her eyes, trying to pull the now-fuzzy memories from the back of her mind. He'd had such kind, bright eyes, lined with dark eyebrows that bordered on too thick. They had similarly shaped noses; his was wider at the tip with slightly flared nostrils, while her own were tapered and slim.

In her memories, his face was forever frozen in a fond smile, the kind he always wore just before he reached out to playfully tug on her earlobe. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were lost to her; silence was her only response.

Frustrated, she tried to gesture at him, tell him that she couldn't hear what he was saying. Again, he opened his mouth, and again, no sound came out.

When he reached up to sweep a strand of her hair behind her ear, the sensation of the soft strands brushing against her skin—a sensation that was all too real—jolted her awake.

She shot upright in the bed, gasping for air as she stared at the wooden room divider that rested at the foot of the bed. Reaching up, she brushed the sweaty strands of her hair back from her face, resting her forehead against her knees as she fought to catch her breath.

_This isn't my room_ , she thought absentmindedly, tracing the short strands of fur on the pelt that covered her body.

After lowering her legs, she glanced around, noting the bookshelf on the other side of the room, and the writing desk that sat beside it. She ran her fingers across the pelt, then glanced at the divider once more. This room _was_ familiar, and after staring at the dummy in the corner that housed a pristine set of armor, complete with a wolf head on the breastplate, she realized why: this was Vilkas' room, and she'd been in it once before.

A candle flickered on the nightstand beside her, nearly extinguished. Whoever had been in here last had likely left it burning for her, in case she'd woken up.

Quickly, she tossed off the pelt and swung her legs over the bed, wincing slightly when the wound in her back pulled. She reached behind her, trying to feel for the incision again. Her fingers met padded linen, and she straightened with a sigh; they'd bandaged her stitches.

She was grateful for the help, but shuddered at the thought of receiving said stitches. She was glad she'd been unconscious for that part. There was something about needles that unnerved her.

After rising to her feet, she traipsed over to the small water basin that Vilkas kept on his desk. Mentally, she lamented the fact that it was so tiny, but then again, a big burly man like Vilkas probably didn't clean his face all too often. Trying not to splash too much, she cupped the water and brought it to her face, sighing in delight when the coolness washed away the sweat that clung to her skin.

It was during the third splash that she heard the door open and shut, quieter than she would've thought Vilkas would be when entering his own room. In fact, it was so quiet, if she hadn't been trained to hear nearly imperceptible sounds, she might've missed it altogether. She paused, bracing herself on the edge of the desk as she listened for his heavy footsteps.

When she couldn't hear them, she slowly straightened, clenching her jaw when she realized who was in the room with her. There was only one group of people in the world who could mask their footsteps as well as her own.

The person must've realized that she knew they were in the room now, because shortly after, a woman's voice called out to her.

"Hello, Lisara."

The woman's voice was cool, unemotional, and she knew only one woman who could manage to sound that way on a regular basis. Swiveling on her heel, she turned around, and when her eyes met crystalline blue ones, she knew she was right.

"Astrid. How lovely to see you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to StarryNight101 for beta-reading :)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I'd love to hear your thoughts!! Thanks for still reading, everyone :)


	13. The Plan

Astrid paced around the room, absentmindedly touching things as she passed them; books, the bedpost, the wooden privacy screen. Lisara braced herself against the desk, watching her once mentor with shrewd eyes. She knew that Astrid was simply stalling, trying to ramp up the tension she felt so that she'd be more likely to spill the truth.

This was no mere social visit.

Astrid was here for answers—answers that, as much as she tried to ignore them, Lisara knew she'd eventually have to provide. One didn't simply "leave" the Dark Brotherhood. Once you joined, you were a blood sibling for life. Sithis owned you, owned your soul, and there was no easy way out, aside from your own death.

And death was the reason Astrid had come to call.

After what felt like ages, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood came to a halt and leaned against the bedpost. Even from across the room, her deep blue eyes held Lisara's attention without wavering, complete and intense. Silence built between them until she felt like she couldn't take it anymore.

When she reached up to fiddle with the end of her braid, Astrid finally spoke. "It seems your target is alive and well."

Her tone didn't give anything away. She didn't sound angry, or accusatory. In fact, it almost sounded like she was talking about the weather.

Lisara cleared her throat, and her gaze flickered to the floor before returning to meet Astrid's. "That he is. As you can see, I'm injured."

"Hm." Astrid didn't even bother to look at Lisara's injuries. Instead, she turned away and seemed to be inspecting Vilkas' bookshelf. She was still facing away when she said, "He seems to be a rather learned individual; quiet, but well-spoken."

At first, Lisara didn't respond. She inspected Astrid's profile, pondering over the potential routes the conversation could take. Eventually, she conceded and mumbled, "He is."

It was then that Astrid finally faced her again. "Handsome, too."

Lisara tilted her chin up just a bit, before she asked, "Where are you going with this, Astrid?"

"I'm simply trying to figure out why he's still breathing, Lisara. It's been weeks since you left to fulfill your contract. The longest you've ever taken is four days. Two of those were because of travel. Yet here you are, recovering in his room, in his  _bed_. Odd, don't you think?"

Again, Lisara's gaze fell to the floor. "It's...the situation is more complicated than I initially thought."

"And why is that?"

She hesitated, unsure of how much information she should share with Astrid. Her own personal reasons weren't important enough to share, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. But Vilkas being the Dragonborn, potentially being able to save Skyrim from the threat of the dragons...surely that was important enough to warrant  _not_  killing him?

Decision made, she lifted her eyes to meet Astrid's again. "Because he's the Dragonborn."

Astrid raised an eyebrow, seemingly doubtful of that bit of information. "The Dragonborn is nothing more than a legend, a folk tale meant to inspire bravery in the hearts of Nord children."

"So he thought, too, until he absorbed a dragon's soul and learned how to shout."

"Why exactly is it that you are so defensive of him, Lisara? That, paired with what I mentioned about you being in this room earlier, seems rather suspect." Astrid pushed off of the bed and stalked towards Lisara. "Could it be that you  _care_  for him? That you don't  _want_  to kill him?"

"I—" Lisara crossed her arms over her chest, wincing when her shirt pulled at the bandage on her back.

Did she care about Vilkas in that way? It was true that she was physically attracted to him—it would be impossible to deny that by this point. But did she truly  _care_  about him? Want the best for him, want to be near him all the time?

Yes, the familiar sight of his handsome face brought her comfort, and the deep timbre of his voice sent shivers running down her spine. Every time he touched her, it was like the flame that simmered deep within her flared to life and warmed her down to her toes. She hadn't wanted to part from him all those weeks ago when they started their journey together, but she'd pegged the reason being that he reminded her of her brother. Because he represented all that was good in the world, that she wanted to learn to be like that, too.

But had she simply been in denial all this time? Did she want and enjoy all those things because she cared about him in a romantic sense?

Apparently, Astrid had seen the answer in Lisara's face before she herself even realized it. The leader of the Dark Brotherhood hummed in satisfaction, and said, "That's what I thought. Unfortunately, as important as the...'Dragonborn' may be, a contract is a contract. You know as well as I do that the Brotherhood does not make exceptions."

"Yes, but—"

Astrid interrupted her with an intense stare. "There are  _no_  exceptions."

Lisara closed her mouth with a snap as her gaze flitted to the door. If Vilkas walked into the room while Astrid was still here, it wouldn't end well for any of them. She would be forced to choose between the Dark Brotherhood and Vilkas, and if she was being honest with herself, she already knew which one was the clear choice. That meant the two of them would have to team up to kill Astrid, and the repercussions of that decision were not an easy obstacle to overcome.

Looking back at Astrid, Lisara pressed her mouth into a thin line. The look on her face must've struck a chord with Astrid, because her stern expression softened.

"Look, you're one of my best, Lisara. I know that you're capable of doing this. You just got...distracted. It happens."

Lisara remained silent, though her gaze didn't waver from Astrid's. The blonde sighed and propped her hands up on her hips. "You have one week. That should be plenty of time for your recovery, and for you to get the job done. Yes?"

She offered a grim nod, not wanting to give herself away with the lack of conviction in her voice. It seemed to satisfy Astrid, because she nodded and headed for the door.

"I expect to see you back at the Sanctuary this coming Morndas, Lisara." When her fingers were splayed out against the wooden door, she glanced back over her shoulder and added, "Don't be late."

Astrid slid out the door, silent and one with the shadows. The second the door closed with a soft thud, Lisara let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She turned around and leaned down on the desk, concentrating on taking deep breaths through her nose.

_Now what am I supposed to do?_

When standing proved to be too difficult for her body to handle any longer, she staggered back over to the bed and gingerly lowered herself down onto the covers. Her mind was racing far too much, and she knew she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep for some time. After throwing her arm over her eyes, she let out a deep sigh.

Clearly, she couldn't stall any longer. If she couldn't kill Vilkas and complete her contract, that only left one other option: destroy the Dark Brotherhood. As simple as it was to say, it wasn't nearly as simple to  _do_. She knew that Vilkas and the rest of the Companions would likely be completely on board, but it seemed selfish to ask them to help. That, and she'd have to admit that she'd been sent here to kill Vilkas, and that was why she wanted to kill every last one of them.

Then again, perhaps she didn't have to tell the truth. Perhaps they could just say that they'd discovered that a contract had been put out for Vilkas' head, and in order to keep him alive, the Brotherhood needed to be destroyed. The fact that it had been  _her_  job was just extraneous information, right?

Lost in thought, she hadn't realized how long she'd been laying there until the sound of the door opening startled her. She shot up in bed, thinking it was Astrid again, and trying ignoring the flare of pain that radiated from her lower back. When she saw that it was Vilkas who stood in the doorway, she let out a sigh of relief.

He gave her a reprimanding look and said, "With your back in that condition, you shouldn't be moving so suddenly."

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to walk in."

"It  _is_  my room," he teased. Within three strides, he was standing beside the bed. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I thought you'd be asleep."

"Why? What time is it?"

That earned her a raised eyebrow. "Nearly three in the morning."

"Oh. That is rather late," she mumbled, toying with the blanket.

"Are you not tired?"

"No, I just...I woke up because I just wanted to wash my face and—" She cut herself off, torn over whether she wanted to tell him about Astrid now or later.

"And…?"

"Just couldn't get back to sleep," she finished, sounding unconvincing to even her own ears.

He turned away from the bed, grunting in response as he made his way behind the privacy screen. She heard a chest open, and then it sounded like he was rustling through the contents, looking for something. A few minutes later, he came back around the screen with a bedroll in his hand.

"What are you doing?" she questioned softly.

"I'm going to sleep on the floor, in case you need something in the middle of the night. You really shouldn't be walking around very much, and I'd rather you take it easy. I can bring you whatever you need."

She watched him unfurl his roll and even it out. Her eyes continued to watch him as he moved behind the privacy screen again, and returned shortly, dressed for bed. A chuckle escaped her as she recalled the last time they'd shared a room together. He'd kept his armor on and she teased him about whether he ever took it off, and he'd said not even to sleep.

Apparently when he was at home, he  _did_  take it off.

When he was getting ready to climb into his bedroll, she cleared her throat, causing him to look up at her with a silent question in his eyes.

"Vilkas, could you—would you be willing to—" She let out a frustrated sigh at her lead tongue. After taking a deep breath, she hurriedly muttered, "You can sleep with me, up here, if you want to."

His eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. If she hadn't been flushed with embarrassment, she might've been proud at her ability to render him speechless.

"I wouldn't want to...make you uncomfortable."

She waved her hand in the air in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "You wouldn't. Your warmth would be comforting, if anything. I've been shivering the entire time I've been down here."

At that, he furrowed his brows. "You were cold? Why didn't you say anything?"

Without another word, he started packing up his bedroll. After fastening it with the leather strap, he tossed it behind the privacy screen and ambled over to the bed. He lifted his leg and placed one knee on the covers before hesitating, and then looked back up at Lisara.

"Are you sure about this? I don't want to overstep any boundaries and make you feel like I'm taking advantage of your condition."

A grin quirked at the corners of her mouth. "No, Vilkas. I wouldn't think that. Come over here," she replied, gesturing him closer.

Truthfully, she wanted to share a bed with him for three reasons. One, if Astrid came back to finish the job, the closer Vilkas was to her, the more chance she'd have of stopping Astrid in time. Two, she really  _had_  been cold. It was part of the reason she'd woken up in the first place. Lastly, ever since their shared moment at High Hrothgar, she'd wanted nothing more than to be close to him. The feel of being in his arms, of his lips against hers—it'd been  _wonderful_ , and she couldn't deny that she wanted to experience that again. Granted, with her injuries being as bad as they were, she doubted that would be happening tonight. But it was still reassuring to feel his presence and warmth so close.

When he was settled on the bed behind her, she rolled over to face the wall and he draped his arm over her side. With a slight  _humph_ , he tucked his arm under her and pulled her closer, careful not to jostle her too much. She sighed in comfort at the feel of being surrounded by him, and nuzzled her face into his arm.

Her temple pressed into the hard ridge of his bones, and she frowned, disconcerted at how easy it was to feel them. She'd been so used to Vilkas' large mass, that she'd nearly forgotten how badly he'd suffered while imprisoned by the Silver Hand.

Absentmindedly, she trailed her fingers along the inside of his bicep, smiling a bit when he shifted.

"Are you ticklish, Vilkas?"

"No. What an absurd notion."

She tried to hide her mischievous snicker, before repeating the motion. Again, he squirmed under her, but this time he said, "If you keep doing that, I'm going back to the floor, Lisara."

"Okay, okay. I'll stop," she promised with a chuckle.

Her mirth faded, and she reached up and rested her fingers against his skin. Softly, she asked, "In all seriousness, though. How are  _you_  feeling, Vilkas?"

"Fine. Why?"

After rolling her eyes, she turned onto her back slightly so that she could look over her shoulder and into his eyes. "The truth, please."

He held her gaze for a few seconds before letting out the softest of sighs. "I still have a long way to go. Danica says the reason I deteriorated so quickly was because they injected silver into my system. She flushed it out after she tended to you, but I've been instructed to take it easy over the next couple of weeks."

_Couple of weeks?_  she thought with disbelief. Astrid had given her a week to come "home", and there was no way she could take down the Brotherhood on her own, or convince the Companions to do it without Vilkas. As that thought crossed her mind, she realized that she'd already made the decision to do it, to do anything to keep Vilkas alive. She hadn't realized that she'd been so ready to destroy the people who had once been her family at the first threat to his life. Well, second.

"Hm," ended up being her only response.

He moved an errant strand of hair out of her face before asking, "Why?"

"I was just worried about you," she murmured, staring up at the ceiling.

"Were you now, lass?"

His voice sounded just a bit deeper than before, and it almost seemed like he was teasing her. She glanced over at him, and sure enough, there was a twinkle in his eye that hadn't been there prior. A short laugh left her, and she nudged him with her shoulder.

"I'll be fine, with time. As will you," he whispered, nuzzling her forehead. He planted a chaste kiss there, before gently turning her back over. "Get some sleep. We both need the rest."

Touched by his uncharacteristically sweet gesture, she smiled as she tucked her head back against his arm. "Goodnight, Vilkas."

Without waiting for a response, she let her eyes slide shut. Within seconds, she was lost to the dreamworld, exhausted by the events with Astrid and straining her body sooner than she should have.

As a result, she never heard Vilkas murmur against her hair, "Goodnight, Lisara."

* * *

_Four days later._

"Lass? Are you busy at the moment?"

At the sound of Kodlak's voice, Lisara looked up at the door. The Harbinger was standing in the open doorway, watching her as she finally had a chance to clean her armor of the blood and grime that had collected on its panels. Though he was older, he was by no means decrepit; the first time Lisara had seen Kodlak, she surmised that he was likely in better shape than even she herself was. Lately, though, she'd noticed that the Harbinger seemed more under the weather than she'd ever seen him.

The dark, heavy bags under his eyes indicated that he didn't get much sleep, and when he walked, it seemed like he shuffled rather than strode with purpose—a sight she'd gotten used to seeing in all of the Companions.

It was troubling.

After setting her pauldron down, she rose from her chair and faced Kodlak, clasping her hands respectfully in front of her. "No, not at all."

He stepped back from the doorway and gestured for her to follow him, before heading into the main hallway. "I'd like to speak with you and Vilkas about something."

They turned, heading farther back in the living quarters towards Kodlak's own chambers. When the Harbinger pushed open his bedroom door, Lisara saw Vilkas standing in the center of the room, arms crossed and a heavy scowl on his face.

Had it been the first week she'd known him, she would've thought he looked angry at her intrusion, or at the interruption to his deep musings. Now, however, she knew he was likely just concerned over whatever matter Kodlak had wanted to speak to the both of them about. It was funny what time did to change the way one saw things in the world.

Her newfound acknowledgement about her feelings towards Vilkas also tended to cloud her interpretation of things, but she tried to smother those thoughts before they threatened to take over her mind—as they'd done the past few days, already.

When Kodlak had made his way across the room and sank down into his familiar chair, Vilkas and Lisara faced him together. It was Vilkas that spoke up first.

"What is this about, Harbinger?" he asked in a terse voice.

Kodlak eyed Vilkas sternly before leaning back in his chair, seemingly drained of any energy he might've had. A long, weary sigh left him. "Skjor's death was hard on all of us."

At the mention of their fellow Companion's death, Lisara lowered her gaze to the floor. She'd hardly spoken to Skjor—to any of the Companions, really. After spending only one day under Jorrvaskr's roof, she'd fled, and then she and Vilkas had left Whiterun the next day.

Despite the fact that she hardly knew all of their names, she could tell how much Skjor's death had affected Aela. The huntress was quick to snap at others when spoken to, and Lisara had caught her staring off into space in the back training yard more often than not. When she wasn't biting someone's head off, she was either brooding in her room, or sprinting through the wilderness in beast form in the late hours of the night.

Vilkas had expressed his concern for their shield-sister, but beyond that, there was nothing anyone else could do; Aela needed to grieve in her own way, in her own time.

In response to Kodlak's opening statement, the tension seemed to seep from Vilkas. His tight shoulders dropped, and he let out a matching sigh. "Yes, it was."

"Aela, especially, though both of you have reason to hate the Silver Hand more than most," Kodlak commented.

Vilkas's anger returned, though it didn't seem to be directed towards Kodlak. He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his own arm. "Aye."

Kodlak gestured to the chair opposite him, and after a few tense seconds, Vilkas joined the Harbinger at the table. Lisara moved to stand beside Vilkas.

Somehow, without sounding accusatory, Kodlak noted, "You've been busy as of late."

Vilkas nodded. "Aye, Aela and I have been working to avenge Skjor's death. I don't take lightly to being kidnapped and tortured, either."

"I wasn't saying that I disapproved, Vilkas. I understand that you've personal reasons. However, Skjor's death was avenged long ago. The two of you have taken far more lives than honor demanded."

When Vilkas bristled, Lisara laid a hand on his shoulder. As if he'd forgotten that she was there, he glanced up at her before relaxing into the chair. Kodlak's shrewd eyes flickered over to Lisara, before he focused on Vilkas once more.

"The cycle of retaliation could continue endlessly if you and Aela insist on keeping to this path." He paused as he shook his head. "That issue aside, I've a task for the two of  _you_."

Kodlak's gaze shifted to Lisara, and he asked, "Have you ever heard the story of how we came to be werewolves?"

A sudden spike of panic shot through Lisara, and she glanced at Vilkas before looking back at Kodlak. The Harbinger chuckled at her reaction. "I've spoken to Vilkas about your travels, lass. I know that you know."

"Oh," Lisara mumbled, feeling stupid. "I, uh—Vilkas hadn't told me the story, no. He just called it a curse."

Kodlak nodded. "And I'm sure he meant that literally, though many members of the Circle see it otherwise. However, the reality of it is that it's a bit more complicated. It always is."

"So what exactly is the truth?" she asked, and Vilkas leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He'd likely heard this story a million times.

A faraway look passed over Kodlak's features as he began to tell the tale. "The Companions are nearly five thousand years old, but the matter of the beast blood is only a few hundred. One of my predecessors was a good-hearted man, and he meant well, but he was a tad bit short-sighted. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven.

"If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, then we would be granted great power. But they did not believe that the change would be permanent. Though the witches offered payment, like anyone else would, our ancestors were essentially tricked."

"That's horrible," Lisara mumbled.

Vilkas grunted and added, "They should be killed for their trickery."

"If only it were that easy," Kodlak replied, turning back to Lisara. "The disease affects not only our bodies, but also our spirits. Lass, you are a Breton, so you may be unfamiliar with this legend. For as long as we Nords have existed, we've been taught that our souls go to Sovngarde upon death. A true warrior's death grants us that gift. However, because of this curse, those of us who are afflicted will be claimed by Hircine and sent to his hunting grounds."

Her expression pinched in confusion. Kodlak must've noticed, because he continued with, "For some, that is a paradise. Many would want nothing more than to hunt with their master for all of eternity. That is their choice, but I am still a true Nord. I wish for my soul's eternal resting place to be Sovngarde."

Vilkas nodded in agreement, though he didn't add anything afterwards. Lisara traced the lines of his profile in the candlelight, before looking to Kodlak once more. "So what do you need us to do? Is there a cure?"

"I've spent much of my twilight years trying to find that very answer. It seems as if there may be a way. The witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us."

Vilkas leaned forward, enraptured by this new piece of information.

Kodlak rose from his chair and crossed the room, coming to a halt in front of his writing desk. After pulling a rolled-up map from one of the drawers, he handed it to Lisara and returned to his seat. "Go to their coven. Strike one down as a true warrior of the wild, and bring me their heads. We'll see if we can't undo centuries of impurity."

Seemingly empowered by the knowledge that there was possibly a cure, Vilkas shot to his feet. "Are we to leave now?" he asked in a rush.

"Yes, lad. But tell no one where you're going, or what you're to do. I don't want the rest of the Circle to know of this until we are certain it is a possibility. I would rather you go alone, but from what you've told me of Lisara and your journey together thus far—" He glanced in her direction. "—I'd like you both to go. That, and neither of you are in peak condition. It may take your combined strength to find success."

"I am honored by your trust," Lisara said quietly, bowing her head in respect.

Kodlak returned the gesture with a slight smile. "May Talos guide you both."

Without further preamble, Vilkas made for the door. Lisara trailed after him, chewing her bottom lip in deep thought. Astrid had given her a week to complete the contract, and then she was expected "home". If she didn't return, it was both their heads on the chopping block.

It'd been four days thus far, and she had no idea how long it would take to do Kodlak's bidding. Would it be more difficult for the Brotherhood to find them on the road? Or would it simply make it easier for them?

Either way, they had no choice but to go.

They returned to Vilkas' quarters, and with frenzied motions, he packed their bags. Armor sets, weapons, health potions and other medical supplies were thrown in without any semblance of order. Lisara watched him thoughtfully, trying to formulate a plan.

If the Brotherhood found them on the road, they'd simply have to deal with whomever was dispatched. Would Vilkas ask questions, though? Would he immediately put two and two together and know they were being hunted down because of the contract?

He wasn't stupid, so that answered that question. But if she didn't tell him beforehand, the likelihood of him being caught off guard was significantly higher. As he cinched their bags shut and hoisted them over his shoulder, she stepped in front of the doorway, right into his path. Confused, he looked down at her, expecting an explanation.

"Vilkas, before we go, I need to tell you something."

"Right now?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, right now."

With a hesitant nod, he backpedaled and set their bags back on the bed. "All right. What is it?"

Lisara took a deep breath and fiddled with her fingers for a bit, before starting with, "Do you remember that first night we got back to Whiterun?"

"Yes…"

"You came back to the room, and I was awake in the middle of the night?"

"I found that quite odd, but yes, I remember."

"I...you were right. I was awake for a reason. I—" She broke off in mid-sentence, hesitating for a second before she blurted out, "Someone from the Dark Brotherhood came here."

"What?" he exclaimed, darting forward to grab her shoulders. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to overreact that night. You were still recuperating, I was still injured—It didn't make sense to make you excited over nothing."

"Over  _nothing_ , no, but that isn't nothing!

She held up her hand, silently pleading with him to let her finish. "Yes, but that's beside the point," she replied as he scoffed. "It was Astrid, their leader."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "And what did this 'Astrid' want?"

"To know why I hadn't finished the job yet."

They stood there, holding one another's gaze for an indeterminate amount of time. Finally, he asked, "And what did you tell her?"

"Something stupid and completely unconvincing, now that I think back on it. I told her it was because I was very obviously injured. It was clear that it was a recent injury; I'd had plenty of time to do what I'd been sent to do."

"Then what did she say?"

"She gave me a week. She expects to see me back at the Sanctuary by the end of the day, three days from now."

Something akin to a frustrated growl came from Vilkas, and he started pacing around the room, clearly agitated. Eventually, he faced her again. "What of this mission that Kodlak has given us?"

"I say we still do it, but I wanted to tell you this before we left. As much as I've been trying to keep my eyes peeled for any sign of the Brotherhood, I didn't want to run the risk of you being caught off guard."

He very nearly snorted at that. "I'm rarely ever caught off guard."

Lisara rolled her eyes, and replied, "Yes, but it's  _that_  attitude that allows it to happen that  _one_  time. I didn't want to take any chances."

"I understand that, lass," he conceded quietly. "Thank you for telling me. That still doesn't solve our problem of you being expected in only three days' time, though."

When she'd heard him say "our problem", a slight thrill had rippled through her. It was silly to feel happy about something so seemingly insignificant. She nearly chided herself for feeling excited, but...she couldn't deny that hearing him refer to the two of them as a team—as a united front—felt good.

"No, it doesn't. To be honest, there are really only two options."

"And those are?"

"Well, the obvious first would be to kill you—to fulfill the contract and return to Astrid with proof. We both know I'm not doing that, so that leaves the second option: destroy the Dark Brotherhood."

At that, Vilkas' eyebrows raised so high, they nearly disappeared into his hairline. She would've laughed, had the situation not felt so serious.

"Destroy the Dark Brotherhood? You would do that? Destroy the very people you considered a family not-so-long ago?"

"I never truly considered them my family. I merely used them to fill in the gaping hole that was left from my  _real_  family falling apart," Lisara muttered. Vilkas' expression fell when she said that, and she shook aside her moroseness. "I consider you more my family than I ever did the Brotherhood."

Her admission seemed to surprise them both. She shuffled in place, uncomfortable at revealing something so personal that she'd never really intended on sharing with him, even if it did have to do with him. On his part, he hadn't seemed to consider that she cared about him so much. Talos—or even Sithis—forbid he ever find out the real reason  _why_  she considered him that way.

"Very well, then. We destroy the Dark Brotherhood. I have to admit that I'm not too torn up about their existence being wiped from the face of Skyrim."

_No, you wouldn't be_ , Lisara thought to herself with a quiet chuckle.

Someone as good and pure as Vilkas—who always did the right thing in any situation—would never  _dis_ approve of eradicating a faction who murdered people in cold blood. He likely considered it as doing society and the people of Skyrim a favor, his duty as a Companion.

With a slight nod, she said, "Very well, then. What of Kodlak's task?"

"We'll finish what he asked us to do, then set up plans to take down the Brotherhood. Inside information always helps."

"What about Delphine? We were supposed to meet her two days after we last saw her."

With a wave of his hand, he explained, "I sent a missive to her once we reached Whiterun. She knows we were delayed. She'll be waiting for us at Riverwood as we originally discussed, whenever we're ready. It just gives her more time to plan our way into the Embassy, anyway."

"You've thought of everything, it seems," she noted with a small smile.

"A good warrior is always prepared," he remarked. It was difficult to tell whether he'd noticed she'd been teasing, as he sounded entirely too serious. He picked up their packs once more and asked, "Are you ready to go, then?"

This time, she held out her hand for her own bag. He wasn't her own personal pack mule, and she'd be damned if she let him do everything for her. With a slightly surprised expression, he handed her the smaller pack of the two. She shouldered it, careful of her nearly healed wound, and headed for the door.

"Let's go get us some witch heads."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to StarryNight101 for beta-reading! And thank you to anyone who comments and/or subscribes. Seriously, I love talking to you guys, so don't be shy!


	14. The Witches of Glenmoril Coven

Vilkas and Lisara stood on a small outcropping that overlooked the plains before them. A slight breeze flowed through the air, and the cool wind fluttered the ends of her braid. Just in front of them, Shadowmere shifted in place, anxious to get moving again; like his owner, he was anxious to keep moving.

After letting out a sigh of frustration, Lisara leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest with a frown. "No, we can't go that way. There's a lake right behind that hill, Vilkas. I'd rather not have to swim, if I can help it."

"Well, we can't go west. That would lead us straight into the Coven," Vilkas replied with a sigh.

They both fell silent, having reached an impasse. Lisara stared down at the map that Kodlak had given them, trying to form an alternate plan. A minute or two later, when nothing came to her, she sighed and let her arms fall.

An hour and a half into their ride, when they were just passing the Western Watchtower, they'd both realized that there was no way they'd make it to the Coven and back in one day. If they'd been in peak condition, the ride would have been no problem; Glenmoril Coven was only a few miles southwest of Whiterun. However, after the injuries they'd both sustained while in the Silver Hand's custody, a few miles was a lot farther than they could handle at the moment.

First of all, the Western Watchtower was normally only a half hour's ride from the city's gates. It had taken them nearly two to reach it. If they'd kept going, they would've arrived at the Coven in roughly seven hours. By then, they'd have been exhausted and in no condition to fight an entire band of witches. Determination was important, yes, but knowing one's limits was significantly  _more_ important.

She would rather take longer to get the job done, then rush into it and end up killing herself out of sheer stupidity.

So, the two of them had stopped to take a break and consult the map so that they could form a new plan of action. Vilkas wanted to head straight over the hill and stay the night at Falkreath, so that they were only a short distance away from the Coven and could ride straight there the following morning.

The map didn't show a lake behind the hill, but Lisara knew there was one there. She'd passed by it multiple times on her way out of Falkreath, and for some reason, Vilkas didn't believe her. Clearly, he didn't wander the wilds surrounding the city proper very often. As he'd stated earlier, they couldn't go around the hill to the east, because it would take them straight to Glenmoril Coven, rendering their previous caution pointless.

Again, Lisara looked down at the map. A few seconds later, she pointed to Riverwood. "Why don't we ride to Riverwood first? We can rest for a bit, get something to eat, and then plan to be in Falkreath by the end of the night."

Vilkas glanced down at the map, and his gaze honed in on where her finger was pointing to. "I suppose we could do that. Seems like a waste of time, though."

"Well, it's that, or we ride straight to Glenmoril Coven," she said in exasperation. "Look, Vilkas, I know this wasn't our ideal plan. If we ride to Riverwood, and then on to Falkreath to stay the night, I understand that it sets us back by at least a day—perhaps more. But you and I both know that we are in no condition to continue on to Glenmoril, survive the fight, and then ride back to Whiterun."

He grunted before turning away, gazing ahead at the hill that ruined all of their plans. Lisara stared at him for a few seconds, before adding, "It will take us at least two hours to get to Riverwood. From there, it's another four to Falkreath,  _if_ we ride fast."

Vilkas still didn't respond and Lisara rolled the map up, exasperated. After stuffing it back into her bag, she stepped closer to him and laid a hand on his upper arm. "It's the best plan we have right now. Kodlak didn't say that he was in any particular rush, and it isn't like the witches are going anywhere. A day or two delay won't hurt us. We're taking our time to  _help_  ourselves, technically speaking."

At first, he didn't say anything. He just stood there, staring at the same hill that he'd been staring at for the past few minutes. Finally, he turned to her and said, "Fine. Once we're finished at Riverwood, we ride as fast as we can handle to Falkreath. As soon as the sun rises the next day, we're leaving for the Coven."

"Sounds like a plan. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to check in with Delphine in person." Lisara headed back towards the horses, and after securing her pack to Shadowmere's saddle, she faced Vilkas again. "I know this isn't how you wanted things to go, Vilkas. I understand that more than you think. But in this moment, your health is more important than getting to the witches tonight."

He paused in the middle of getting into his saddle, and she could hear the long sigh that he let out from across the way. Once he'd swung his leg up and over, and was settled in, he looked down at her. "I know, lass. It's just hard for me to...remember that I'm not at my best."

She nodded in understanding before climbing atop Shadowmere. From the first day she'd met Vilkas, she could immediately tell that he was not the type of man who would stand by and let things run their course. If he saw a solution, and believed he could help, he would do it without hesitation.

She knew that it was difficult for him to accept the fact that they couldn't just go riding off at breakneck speed toward the Coven. They couldn't just rush in and take them all down, with him shouting them all into Oblivion, and her slicing and dicing the ones he didn't dispatch. It would take time for them to recover and reach that point once more, but that didn't mean that it would never be a possibility again.

As they started riding for Riverwood, Lisara realized that this was the exact reason that Kodlak had sent them on this mission together. If Vilkas had come alone, he would most definitely have just barrelled into the Coven, sword drawn and slashing through the air with no compunction. The Harbinger also wouldn't have sent her on this mission by herself. Even if she had been a trusted member of the Companions, she still would've been ill-equipped for a mission of this sort.

Her skills lied in subterfuge, sneaking, and assassination. If this were the sort of mission that Delphine had wanted to send them on, she would've been able to carry it out on her own just fine. An entire coven of witches, though? Not the best situation for a lone assassin, by any means. She would have managed to kill one just fine, but it was almost a guarantee that the rest would sense it in whatever magical way they were connected, and that would've been the end of things.

So, Kodlak had sent them together, expecting Lisara to temper Vilkas' eagerness, and for Vilkas to be there to watch her back. She shouldn't have been surprised by his perception. After all, he was The Harbinger for a reason.

They rode on towards Riverwood at a normal pace. A couple of hours later, the tall, angled, wooden roofs of the buildings came into view. Because they hadn't pushed themselves to ride faster than they could handle, they hadn't needed to stop for breaks. As such, they'd made good time.

With familiarity, they made their way through town, heading for the Sleeping Giant Inn. As soon as they got their horses secured to the post out front, they traipsed up the steps and into the main room of the inn. Delphine was standing behind the counter, in her usual place, and the second she spotted Vilkas and Lisara by the door, she straightened and waved them over.

"I was wondering when I'd see you two again," she commented, once they stood on the opposite side of the bar.

"Injuries have a way of setting one back," Lisara said.

"I take it that means you're feeling all right once more, then?" Delphine looked away and started wiping down the bar top with a wet rag, likely trying to keep her innkeeper front believable.

Vilkas nodded. "Yes and no. We're here because we ended up needing a place to rest for a bit, but we've business nearby that isn't with you."

Delphine bristled, and Lisara piped up before Vilkas could irritate the woman even more. "What he means is that we're still on the road to full recovery. We were given a relatively easy task that won't take us long. Once that's finished, we'll be back."

Still visibly irked, Delphine looked up and met Lisara's gaze. "I hope that's the case. I've finished forming a plan for…what we'd discussed before, so whenever you two are ready, let me know. The event we're using for our cover is getting closer, and I'd rather not cut it  _too_  close."

Lisara nodded in goodwill, and replied, "We understand the need for urgency. By the end of the day tomorrow, we should be back in Whiterun to settle things. Then, we'll return here the day after. Does that sound fair?"

"Fair enough. You said you needed a room?"

"Just for an hour or two. We'll likely just rest for a bit and then head back out."

Delphine scoffed in response. "For taking it easy, you two seem to be riding rather hard." She gestured to her right. "You can use the same room. It's on me. I expect to see you back in a few days, though. No excuses this time."

"We'll be back, Delphine," Lisara reassured the woman, heading to the room on their left. "Thank you."

When Delphine didn't say anything further, Vilkas trailed after Lisara into the room and shut the door. They both tossed their packs onto the ground and Lisara flopped down onto the bed. "Do you want to rest first? Or shall we just eat and go?"

"It would be a good idea to at least get a few minutes of sleep. I realize it isn't that late in the day, but considering we're both still on the mend, any amount of rest will help. You can sleep first. I'll grab some food and wake you in half an hour or so."

He turned and left the room, and Lisara took her time taking her boots off before she laid down on the mattress. Normally, she preferred not to take off her shoes. One never knew when an unexpected threat could come crashing through the door. With Vilkas nearby, though, she didn't feel as cautious as she'd normally be.

She fell asleep faster than she'd expected to, and slept a peaceful, dreamless sleep. It felt like she'd only been unconscious for five minutes when she felt Vilkas shaking her awake. Groggily, she sat up in bed and stared up at him in confusion.

"Food, remember?" he asked, holding up a sweet roll.

"Oh...right." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feeling like they were made of stone. After stretching her arms above her head, she rose to her feet and took the roll from Vilkas. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, lass. There's a whole plate over there on the table."

He sat down on the bed as she made her way across the small room. There was indeed a full plate of food that he'd brought in: more sweet rolls, a chicken leg, and an assortment of fruit. She sat down at the desk, and heard the blankets rustling as Vilkas laid down.

As she nibbled on the sweet roll he'd brought her, she turned around and watched him with a curious expression. When he'd explained the curse to her, he'd mentioned that it was part of the reason he had trouble sleeping at night. Now that she knew what troubled him, she wondered if he'd have any luck this time around. This was the first time he was trusting her to take watch.

His eyes were shut, and his chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern. It seemed, by all accounts, like he was asleep. She wasn't sure whether he was pretending for her sake, or whether he was actually getting some much-needed rest. He'd seemed to fall asleep just fine the night they'd shared a bed at Jorrvaskr, but  _she'd_  been asleep then, too. It was hard to say for certain whether he had actually been sleeping.

When she finished her sweet roll, she faced the desk again and picked small chunks of meat off of the chicken leg. She'd never been a fan of eating meat off of the bone, and the skin made her feel strangely uncomfortable when she was biting into it. Eating detached pieces of white meat seemed more...humane, oddly enough. Once she'd eaten all of the white meat, and left the dark meat on the bone, she reached for some of the grapes. It was then that she heard a quiet murmur coming from behind her.

On edge, her hand jumped down to the handle of her dagger as she whirled around in her seat. When she didn't see anyone in the room, she straightened, listening for more sounds. A few seconds later, it happened again, and Vilkas turned over onto his side.

Lisara let out a sigh of relief when she realized it'd been Vilkas murmuring in his sleep. She rose to her feet and wandered over to stand beside the bed, watching him with a slight smile on her face. For such a big, burly man, she'd never have thought him to be one who made sounds in his sleep; she'd never had the chance to witness it before.

When his slight murmuring transformed into gasps—gasps that sounded afraid—Lisara's smile turned into a frown. She reached out, shaking his shoulder to wake him up. A few seconds later, he awoke with a startled cry, and swung his arm out to the side. Quickly, she ducked, and it sailed over her head as he swiftly sat up in bed.

"Wh—" He cut himself off, staring at her with wide eyes. His pupils were dilated, and he had a crazed, wild look on his face.

"It's just me, Vilkas. It's Lisara. You were having a nightmare—I think. I was just trying to wake you up," she explained, holding her hands out in a mollifying gesture.

His gaze darted around for a bit before meeting hers, and his breathing eventually slowed to a normal pace. He turned and planted his boots on the stone ground before dropping his head into his hands. "I'm sorry. I...sometimes, I still can't sleep."

"I was worried about that, actually." She sat down beside him on the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He ran his hands down his face before looking straight ahead. "Not particularly."

"Then we won't talk about it," she replied, hugging her knees to her chest.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes—though it was by no means uncomfortable—with their arms touching. Vilkas continued to stare ahead at the stone wall, and Lisara sat beside him. She knew how important it was sometimes just to have someone there with you, even if they didn't say anything.

After a few more minutes had passed, she hopped off the bed and headed over to the desk. With a sweet roll and the remains of the chicken leg in her hands, she walked back over to the bed and stood right in front of Vilkas, holding the food out to him.

He focused his gaze on the food before glancing up at her, amused. "Are you telling me to eat, lass?"

"I firmly believe in the power of food, and that it helps in making things better."

Vilkas chuckled, before taking the sweet roll. "I already ate a bit while you were asleep, but I can't ever turn down a sweet roll."

A smile teased at the corners of her lips, and she walked away to set the chicken leg back down on the plate before he could see.

_Who knew that Vilkas would have a sweet tooth?_  she thought to herself with a grin.

She turned back around and crossed her ankles before mirroring the motion with her arms. "So, do you need a bit longer?"

He shook his head, stuffing the rest of the sweet roll into his mouth. After stretching his neck, he walked over to their bags and slung them over his shoulders. "No, I'm ready."

They headed back into the dining hall, and after a final parting nod in Delphine's direction, they left the inn. Once they stood beside their horses, Vilkas handed Lisara her pack, and she tied it to Shadowmere's saddle again. Quickly, they mounted, and within minutes, they were back on the road and leaving Riverwood behind.

According to her earlier calculations, Falkreath should be about four hours' ride from Riverwood. They would need to follow the river for a bit, but when it branched off to the west, they'd need to continue south in order to reach the Hold. It was a relatively easy path to follow, and since it was well-traveled, she didn't expect to run into any trouble.

Hopefully the rest of the world would cooperate.

They rode in companionable silence, focusing more on keeping a steady pace rather than trying to hold a conversation. By this point in their relationship, they knew each other well enough to sense when and when not to say something. Before, there were times when Lisara felt the need to fill the silence, unable to handle the tension in the air. Now, that feeling was gone. Things were...comfortable, familiar, and she never would've guessed that they would be in this position.

It had been so long since she'd been this comfortable around anyone, and after Elias left, she never thought she would again.

The sound of their horses' hooves against the dirt path filled the air. As they rode, Lisara absentmindedly stared at the back of Vilkas' head. She watched the way the chestnut strands of his hair fluttered every time the slightest breeze blew past, watched the way he occasionally tilted his head to the side to stretch his sore neck muscles. For reasons that she now understood, his every movement was endearing and fascinating to her. It was as if she could watch him day and night and she'd never tire of seeing his face.

A half an hour or so later—when they'd been riding for nearly two hours thus far—he twisted around in his saddle to look at her, catching her off guard.

"I need to stop for a break. Are you all right with that?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

She nodded in agreement. "That's fine."

After steering their horses off the path and next to a nearby copse of trees, they dismounted. Vilkas headed off into the forest, while Lisara leaned back against Shadowmere to wait. Now that they'd stopped moving, the world around them was silent. Or at least, as silent as nature could be. The cheerful trilling of birds in the early afternoon surrounded her, and the occasional rustle of leaves intermingled with their songs.

Though the sounds should've calmed her, and left her with a blank, peaceful mind, Lisara found that it did the opposite. All she could think of was the fact that they only had three days to finish their task and then figure out what to do about the Brotherhood. Less than three days, technically, now that it was just after high noon.

They'd also promised to check back in with Delphine in only a couple of days. It felt like they were stretching themselves too thin, promising their help to too many people, all over Skyrim. Anxious, she tapped her fingers against the back of her arm, trying to resist the urge to pace. She had a hard time just sitting idle when she knew that people were forming their own plans, somewhere out there. That was one thing she and Vilkas definitely had in common.

When the trees behind her rustled louder than just the wind could cause, she spun around with her hand on the hilt of her dagger. Vilkas came out of the forest with his hands raised, his eyes darting to her weapons. "It's just me, lass."

The breath she'd been holding left her in a loud exhale. "You can't sneak up on me like that. I've told you that a hundred times by now, I swear."

"I wasn't sneaking," he commented with a low chuckle. "I was trying to make as much noise as possible on my way back so I wouldn't catch you off guard. It's not my fault if you're not paying attention."

Lisara rolled her eyes at his newfound humor. A few moments later, they were back on the road. Only ten minutes passed by before Vilkas turned to her and said, "Why  _are_  you so on edge, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it's the fact that we're in a bit of a rush, or that the Dark Brotherhood wants both our heads. Or that, any moment, a dragon could come swooping through the air and try to char our bones. Also, we promised to help restore the Blades and infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy. Or—"

"All right, all right, I get it. We're in high demand."

"More than  _I'd_ like. For someone who's used to operating in the shadows, this is a bit more attention than I bargained for."

"You and I both, lass. I didn't sign on to be the Dragonborn willingly."

Chagrined, Lisara looked over at Vilkas. "I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like I was blaming you."

"You didn't," he reassured her with a slight smile.

They fell quiet, and the rest of their journey to Falkreath was, thankfully, uneventful. No bandits, no surprise dragon attacks, just the sun's warm rays beating down on them. It was a rare occurrence, and Lisara wondered whether they'd ever be so lucky again.

* * *

Finally, when the sun was just barely sinking below the hills to the south, they reached Falkreath. For being one of the major cities in Skyrim, and being the seat of their Jarl, it was surprisingly small. Most of the buildings were comprised of wood, and were topped with thatched roofs that didn't seem to offer much protection. At least, not in the case of a dragon attack. One ember would quickly transform into something else far more menacing.

Now that they were in town, the dirt path was peppered with the occasional row of cobblestones. It had clearly been some time since the path was originally laid, and only a few of the stones remained. Their horses' shoes clacked against the stone intermittently as they made their way down the main street. Falkreath's inn, Dead Man's Drink, was more of a tavern, really, and it rested on the far end of town.

It wasn't an overly large inn—in fact, it closely mirrored the city's size—and Lisara hoped that they'd have a room available. As per their usual routine, when they reached the inn, they dismounted and secured their horses to the provided post. The interior of Dead Man's Drink resembled The Sleeping Giant: a large, wide fire pit sat in the center of the room, flanked by community-oriented wooden tables. The bar was on the far side of the room, and behind it stood who Lisara assumed was the proprietor of the inn.

They made their way over to her, and Vilkas offered a nod in greeting—an action that Lisara was now realizing was common amongst Nords. The woman did not return the gesture, choosing instead to inspect them from head to toe; she was likely trying to figure out whether they'd pose a threat to anyone there. While she inspected them, Lisara took the opportunity to inspect  _her_.

She had a thin, long nose, and her sharp chin made Lisara suspect that the woman was likely an Imperial. They weren't uncommon in Skyrim—at least, no less than a Breton—but it still surprised her.

"Ah, guests! What can I do for ya?"

"A room, please. Just for the night," Lisara requested.

"That'll be 100 septims! Chump change, really. We've only got the one room available."

"In that case, we'll take it," Vilkas stated.

The woman nodded and moved out from behind the counter, jingling a rather large keyring as she led them up the stairs and down the hall. They stopped in front of the third door on the left, and once she'd pushed the door open, she announced, "Well, here we are! Remember, if you hear any juicy gossip in town, be sure to share it with me! Have a wonderful night, you two!"

When she disappeared back down the stairs, Vilkas led the way into the room. Lisara set her pack down by the door and, with a sly grin, remarked, "Are we not even going to bother asking for two separate rooms any longer?"

Vilkas turned, his eyebrows furrowed. "Did you want to? I only thought that—Well, after—"

She snorted at his awkward attempt to explain. "I'm  _joking_ , Vilkas. I know why you didn't. Besides, since we're getting closer to the deadline with the Brotherhood, it's probably smarter to stick close together. And it saves money."

"Right."

"I really didn't mean anything by it," she reassured him with a smile.

"Right," he mumbled, turning away to rummage through his bag.

Her heart sank at the sight of him so seemingly dejected. He teased easier and more often than he did when they'd first met, but whenever she tried to tease him back, he rarely took it in stride. It made her sad to think that, as a child, perhaps he hadn't had much reason to laugh.

Feeling bad about poking fun at him, she sidled up to him and leaned over, resting the side of her head against his arm. He froze for a second, before looking down at her. "What, lass?"

"Nothing. I just…I'm sorry, Vilkas. I tease you because I  _like_  you, though I know that doesn't make sense. I'm not trying to say you made a mistake, or anything. I'm sorry if it came across the wrong way."

He was silent at first, and she mentally kicked herself for doing so many things in one day that warranted an apology. Then, much to her surprise, he shifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. "I know. I'm sorry that I'm so quick to assume. I've just never been close to many people. Or at least, not close enough that they'd feel comfortable teasing me. Farkas being the exception, of course."

At that, Lisara straightened with a smile. She grabbed her bag off the floor and set it down on the bed so that she could unpack it next to him. "Tell me a story about you and your brother?"

"I thought I already had."

"Well, that was  _one_ ," Lisara commented as she looked over at him. "Surely you've others?"

A smile slowly spread across his face. He started unbuckling his pauldrons and faced her as he started recounting the tale. "There was one time when Farkas and I were, oh, nine, perhaps? We were in the main hall at Jorrvaskr, and Tilma had just served supper."

Sensing this was going to be a longer story than she'd anticipated, Lisara moved her pack to the ground and climbed atop the bed. As she was crossing her legs, Vilkas continued, setting his pauldrons down on the blanket beside her.

"Earlier that day, Kodlak had given us our sword lessons, and I'd bested Farkas, much to his surprise." Vilkas smiled fondly, before starting on his chestplate. "He'd stewed in silence for the rest of the afternoon, and by the time supper came around, he'd said about four words to me in total."

"Why was he so upset?" Lisara asked with a chuckle.

"Because, as I'm sure you've heard, most people associate me with the brains and he with the brawns. That's been true ever since we were pups. He was angry that I'd beaten him in something that was supposed to be his territory."

She shook her head in amusement. Vilkas let out a quiet laugh of his own before continuing, "Anyway, so we're sitting there during supper, and all of a sudden, I notice my roll has gone missing from my plate. I look over, and there he is, scarfing it down like a dog who's stolen scraps.

"So, as a nine-year-old lad, I call him out on it. He looks at me and doesn't say a word, just keeps nibbling on that roll."

Lisara laughed again. "Then what did you do?"

"Well, I threw my potatoes at him."

"You didn't!"

"Oh, I did," Vilkas assured her with a wide grin. "My brother being the competitive sort, threw his potatoes right back at me. Let's just say that it didn't end there."

"You two sound like quite the mischief makers," Lisara teased.

"Farkas more than me, but on occasion, I'd join in."

"I can't imagine Tilma was very happy with the state of the hall when she saw…"

"No, she wasn't." He let out a loud laugh. "When she came back up the stairs, she started yelling at the top of her lungs at us. We were forced to clean the entire mead hall from one end to the other. I don't think we finished until the moon was high in the sky."

He set aside his armor with a grin still on his face. She watched him clean it meticulously with a tub of oil he procured from his bag, an equally happy expression on her own face. After a moment of silence, she said, "It sounds like you had a happy childhood."

Vilkas' smile fell ever-so-slightly, before he glanced up at her. "There were more moments of sadness than ones filled with laughter, but I'm well and whole, so I can't complain."

At his statement, which fell in line with what her prior assumption of his younger years had been, Lisara sobered. "I'm sorry, Vilkas. I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

"No need to apologize, lass. I don't know many in Skyrim who can claim completely happy childhoods. 'Tis life."

She nodded in understanding. Though she'd grown up in High Rock, on the farthest end from Skyrim, she knew much of how that felt.

Now that the conversation had reached a lull, she hopped off the bed and proceeded to remove her own armor. Vilkas had finished buffing his and was in the process of putting it back on, when she got her hair stuck in one of the straps that ran across her back. She let out a tiny squeak at the sharp pain that stabbed into her scalp when she tried to tug the strand free, and then an exasperated sigh escaped her.

"Vilkas...could you…?"

He glanced over at her and snorted when he saw her predicament. With gentle and surprisingly deft fingers, he slowly disentangled her hair from the buckle on the strap. Once she was free, she moved to pull away to unbuckle the rest of the straps in order to peel off her armor. To her surprise, he held her in place and silently offered to do it for her. His previous amusement seemed to have dissipated, and now, something else charged the air between them.

Shyly, she turned back around and lifted her hair off of her shoulders to allow him better access. With painstakingly slow movements, he unbuckled her straps one-by-one. When he detached the last one, she could feel her armor loosening in the sides. Reaching up to grab the loops on her shoulders, she pulled her chest piece forward and shrugged out of the sleeves, leaving her in nothing more than her brassiere.

For the briefest of moments, she glanced back at Vilkas in hesitation. When he didn't turn away, she knew then exactly what was going through his mind. The knowledge sent an exhilarating thrill coursing through her, and slowly, she shimmied out of the lower section of her armor. As soon as she stepped out of it, she bent over and picked it up, laying it over the end of the bed.

She heard the scuff of his boot against the stone floor as he stepped closer, and a second later, his warm hands encircled her waist. A shiver ran through her at the unexpected contrast in temperature; he ran much warmer than she remembered—and she was by no means forgetful.

When he tilted his head down and brushed his lips along the curve of her neck, she let out a shaky breath. "Vilkas…"

"Yes, lass?" he whispered against her skin.

"Are you sure you want to do this here? Now?"

After planting a gentle kiss on her earlobe, he let out a soft sigh. "No. But I couldn't resist admiring something I haven't seen in quite awhile."

"I've never said you couldn't admire," she teased, looking back at him over her shoulder with a coy smile.

"No, I don't suppose you did." Reluctantly, he let her go and took a step back. "I'll take first watch. There's no way I can fall asleep  _now_."

"And whose fault is that?"

He looked down and shook his head, before meeting her gaze again. "I'll run downstairs and grab us supper. Give you a chance to finish changing. I'll be back in a few."

Before she could respond, he was out the door. Left in only her undergarments, Lisara reached into her bag for her tights, toying with the waistband as she ruminated over the past few minutes.

Vilkas' actions had been uncharacteristically forward, but considering all of the rather personal moments they'd shared over the past month or so, it didn't surprise her. They  _both_  were becoming more forward, more willing to share the deepest parts of themselves with one another. After they'd shared a bed at Jorrvaskr, it seemed natural that their physical closeness would increase as well.

She'd be lying if she said it didn't make her happy. It did, very much. But it also frightened her in the same way that she'd realized earlier that day. She hadn't been close to anyone since Elias, and though Elias was her brother and therefore a completely different situation from Vilkas, it was an emotional vulnerability that she wasn't sure she wanted to have all the same.

Yet, she couldn't bring herself to pull away. She didn't  _want_ to. Was it so selfish to want at least one person in this world who understood her? Who would hold her when she felt lost and afraid, or helpless?

With a sigh, she quickly pulled her pants on and tugged a long-sleeved shirt over her head. She was re-braiding her hair when Vilkas walked back into the room. If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought he looked relieved to see her fully dressed once more. In his hand, he held a plate filled to the brim with food.

He set it down on the small round table in the corner, and collapsed into the chair with a loud clunk. "I'll wake you up around one or two in the morning, if that sounds all right?"

She nodded in response and eyed the food. When he noticed, he said, "And yes, I'll leave you some food."

Her thanks was in the form of a smile, and eager to lay under the warmth and comfort of the pelt blankets, she climbed into bed in a hurry. As she was rolling over to face the window, she heard him laugh at her under his breath.

"I heard that," she teased.

Again, he laughed. "Good night, Lisara."

Another smile teased at the corners of her mouth, and she whispered, "Good night, Vilkas."

* * *

She woke to the sun streaming on her face, and the warmth caused her to burrow even deeper under the blankets. When she put two and two together and realized that it was the sun that was so bright, she bolted upright in bed.

Frantically, she glanced around the room and spotted Vilkas in the corner, still seated at the same table he'd been at last night when she'd fallen asleep. Now that she knew he was all right, and simply hadn't woken her, she leapt out of bed with an irritated grunt. After stalking over to him, she shoved his shoulder to wake him up.

"Wha—" he exclaimed, grabbing the back of the chair in surprise.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I...I thought you could use the rest…" He trailed off, confused at both his sudden awakening and her exceptional anger.

"So can you! We're supposed to be splitting watches, Vilkas. It isn't supposed to be you staying up all night like you did when we first started traveling together. We're a team, and we're supposed to share the load!"

"I'm sorry, lass, I—" He let out a short sigh and ran his hand over his face. "I didn't think I'd be able to sleep. Not after what happened when I tried in Riverwood. Once this curse is lifted, things will be different."

Her anger ebbed at his confession, and she looked down at the ground, abashed. "I forgot that it doesn't let you get much sleep."

"If any. Most of the time, I'm just tossing restlessly in bed. I'm actually surprised I nodded off just now..."

"You didn't seem to have any trouble the night we slept in your bed at Jorrvaskr." When she realized what she'd said, she blushed and glanced away. Somehow, saying it aloud made it sound like something else had occurred.

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes with intensity. "No, I didn't. That was the first night I'd slept through until the morning in...years."

Not knowing what to say, she simply stared back at him. When the air felt thick with tension again, she cleared her throat and turned away. "I'll get ready to leave, then, if you're sure you don't want to try and get some sleep."

"No, it's morning now. I'd rather start heading to the Coven."

"All right." She heard him rise to his feet, and a few seconds later, she heard the door open.

"Meet me downstairs when you're ready," he instructed, before closing the door with a slight thump.

A sigh left her—she seemed to be doing that more often than not lately. It seemed like every time they looked at one another, the atmosphere between them changed. Both of them kept skirting around it, avoiding one another and or leaving the room when it happened. Eventually, though, she knew something would inevitably happen where the dynamic between them would change, and there would be no going back. Whether it would be a good or a bad thing, she couldn't yet say.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, she made her way over to the bed and grabbed her pack off of the floor. Quickly, she donned her armor and re-sheathed her weapons. A small water basin and carafe sat on the dresser across from the bed, and after splashing her face, she left the room and headed downstairs.

Vilkas was waiting for her by the entrance, and when he saw her coming down the stairs, he pushed off of the wall he'd been leaning against. When she nodded that she was ready, he held the door open for her and they stepped back out into Falkreath.

Silently, they saddled up and headed out of the city, back onto the dirt path that would take them northwest to Glenmoril Coven. It was about equal distance from the city as Riverwood had been, and the route was just as well-traveled. If they rode as hard as they had from Riverwood, they should reach the Coven by noon.

Due to what had transpired between them the night before, Lisara was worried that things would feel awkward between them again. However, Vilkas was surprisingly talkative. He chattered about seemingly random things, from what Tilma often made for supper, to his favorite type of herb. Two hours later as they were passing a small mill to the east, he was talking about which type of leather he preferred to wrap the handle of his greatsword with when Lisara interrupted him.

"This is fascinating and all, Vilkas, but I think you've said more words in the past two hours than I've heard you say since the day I met you. Is there something wrong?"

"No, why would you think that?" he asked defensively.

"For the exact reason I just mentioned. It's unlike you to say this much in such a short amount of time."

He made a face, looking miffed at her comment. "Just because I don't talk as much as Farkas does, doesn't mean I don't do it."

"I know that perfectly well by now. But we've been traveling together for how long? You've never held a conversation quite this long with me before today."

"Fine, I won't speak then."

Lisara rolled her eyes and sighed. "That's not what I was trying to say. You're acting like a petulant child. I've no problem with you talking, I just wanted to make sure that it wasn't because of last night that you feel the need to fill the silence."

When he remained silent, she realized she'd guessed the exact reason. She took a deep breath, and on her exhale, she said, "I thought as much."

"I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable around me."

"And I don't. Why would you think that?"

"Well, after that night at High Hrothgar, I didn't want you thinking that was the only thing I was after. It's not. I...I don't want you to worry that I'm going to...accost you every time we're alone in a room together," he explained, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.

"Again, I don't feel that way, Vilkas. I know that isn't something you'd do. Have I ever once said that I feel uncomfortable with your advances?"

"No…"

"Then, I mean that. In fact, I'd probably say that your advances make me feel...quite the opposite," she admitted, slightly flushed at her confession.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised and eyes wide with surprise. When she glanced over and saw his expression, she shook her head in disbelief. "You can't tell me that  _really_  surprises you. You're a man. I'm sure you've slept with many women. Was my behavior that night at High Hrothgar so out of line with the women you fall into bed with?"

"Well...no…"

Embarrassed, she stated, "There you go. Come on. We've still got an hour and a half to go, and talking is slowing us down."

With a snap of her reins, she and Shadowmere raced ahead of Vilkas, spraying dirt into the air in their wake. As a result, she didn't get to see the expression on Vilkas' face when she'd all but admitted that she desired him  _still_. It wasn't a lie, and she knew it would've come out eventually. She just hadn't expected it to be today, or so easy.

As she'd predicted, an hour or so later, they approached Glenmoril Coven. The entrance to the cavern rested higher up from the plains, and they cautiously made their way up the gradual incline. The closer they got, the slower they rode. When they were only a few feet from the cavern, when Vilkas signaled to stop. In tandem, they dismounted and led their horses into a small, nearby copse of trees.

Stealthily, they crept through the opening to the cavern. It was dimly lit by the occasional flickering torch, and the slightest of sounds bounced back from the rock walls. Vilkas took point with his greatsword drawn, and held in front of him. As they advanced, Lisara checked behind them every few feet to ensure that they wouldn't be crept up on. It was a good system they'd created, and she couldn't imagine fighting as efficiently with anyone else.

When the tunnel opened up into a cavernous room, littered with rock columns that connected the ceiling to the dirt ground, Vilkas lifted his weapon at the ready. Over his shoulder, he gestured "one" and pointed to the witch up ahead. Lisara nodded that she was ready, and Vilkas charged forth. He'd moved so quickly, the witch hadn't had a chance to react, and his sword sliced clean into her shoulder. With a wail, she faced Vilkas with crazed eyes. He yanked his sword back, and with a mighty cry, beheaded her.

As her head hit the ground and rolled, stringy strands of her hair flying about, Lisara rolled her eyes. "Must you announce to everything in here that we've arrived? I've never understood the use of battle cries."

He huffed in annoyance and shook his head as his chest heaved. "It's good for building morale."

"Trust me, I'm plenty motivated. I don't need any help in that regard." She walked over to retrieve the head, stuffing it into the large bag they'd brought just for this purpose. The rotten stench of decay hit her nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose. "This is absolutely vile. Can't you carry them?"

"No. I'm too busy lopping off their heads, so that's your job," he instructed with a lopsided grin.

"Wonderful," she muttered. "Let's head back to Whiterun, then."

"Wait. There has to be more than  _one_  witch in this cavern. Don't you think we should clear out the entire place?"

"And do what with all those heads? Kodlak said he only needed one."

Vilkas looked away from her then, staring pensively at the tunnel that led out of the expansive room. With a blank expression, he murmured, "I only thought that...perhaps a few of  _us_  could use one, too."

Surprised, Lisara stared at his profile. From the moment he'd revealed his secret to her, she'd known that he wasn't overly fond of his lycanthropy. In fact, he was rather open about his hatred for it. But somehow, it hadn't occurred to her that he'd want to cure it here, and  _now_.

With soft steps, she sidled up to him and looked over at the tunnel as well. When she reached over and interlaced their fingers, he looked down at her in mild surprise. With a smile, she said, "Sounds like we're getting more heads, then."

A relieved smile spread across his face, and Lisara thought that perhaps this was the happiest she'd seen him yet. Gently, he cradled her face. "Thank you for understanding, lass."

She shrugged, noncommittally, and replied, "If this is what you want—if it will make you happy, then I'm glad to do it."

He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone before gripping his sword with both hands again. Without another word, he headed for the tunnel and just like before, she followed after him, protecting his flank.

Even though they weren't in top physical form, the two of them together made short work of the witches. Thankfully, they were spread out throughout the cavern, and they never faced more than one at a time. If it had been up to Vilkas, he would've torn his way through the Coven and decimated them all. With their condition, though, it would've left him nothing more than a corpse, and Lisara had to remind him more than once to take things slow.

An hour and a half later, she swung the bag full of heads over her shoulder, and they made their way back to the entrance. When they emerged back into the blinding sunlight, they both paused and shielded their eyes, giving them time to adjust. Vilkas lowered his arm and held his hand out to Lisara, and she knew what he was asking without him having to say anything.

After handing the bag to him, they ambled over to their horses. It took him a few minutes to fully secure the bag to his horse's saddle, given the weight and overly large bulk of it, but before long, they were saddled up and heading back down the hill.

They'd made good time, and it was just before noon; the sun was nearly at its apex in the sky. It would take them the remainder of the day to reach Whiterun, especially since, with their goal completed, neither of them were in any particular rush.

When they reached the bottom of the path and turned in the direction of town, Vilkas paused and looked back at Lisara. With a silent question in her eyes, she came to a stop as well.

"What's wrong?" she questioned, shifting in her saddle when Shadowmere tried to pace.

At first, he didn't say anything. He just sat there and stared back at her, his pale, icy eyes unreadable. When a few seconds of silence passed, she opened her mouth to ask again, concerned, and he beat her to it.

"I—I just wanted to say thank you…for helping me back there."

With a slight laugh, she said, "You don't have to thank me, Vilkas. That's what a shield-sister does, right?"

He too chuckled, knowing full-well that she never had any intention of taking that title seriously when she'd joined The Companions. "Yes, but you didn't have to come with me. You didn't have to follow after me all those weeks ago, and after I discovered I was the Dragonborn, you got roped into something you'd never really wanted."

"You didn't want it either."

"No, but it's my burden to bear, not yours."

She let out a sigh. "I've told you that I care about you, Vilkas. I choose to make it my burden as well, so that you've less to carry on your own."

"I know, and it's that that I'm thanking you for. I've never had many people I can count on—my brother and the few in the Circle aside—and...it means a great deal to me."

They stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds, before Lisara nodded. "You're welcome, then."

Vilkas nodded in response, and with a fond smile, quirked his head in the direction of Whiterun. "Let's go home, lass."

He clicked his tongue at his horse and they trotted off as Lisara stared after him. To her surprise, hearing him refer to Whiterun as  _their_  home had a warmth spreading through her chest that she hadn't felt in some time. Before he'd said the words, she'd never thought that she considered  _anywhere_  home. Not Whiterun, not High Rock any longer, especially not the Sanctuary; nowhere in Skyrim had ever left her yearning to return to. Yet, with his words, she realized that home meant wherever  _he_  was. If that was Whiterun, then so be it.

Under her breath, as she and Shadowmere traipsed after Vilkas, she murmured, "Yes. Let's go home."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I realized when I went to post this that I'd never posted chapter thirteen. Yay...two chapters in a row!??!?!
> 
> Again, thanks StarryNight101 for beta-reading :) My summer class is kicking my butt, because I'm taking two English Lit History classes. As a result, I have to read some odd hundred pages every week, plus supplementary work. Gross! I promise I haven't forgotten about the story.
> 
> See you guys next time!


	15. The Unexpected Casualty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you prefer not to read mature content, I would advise that you stop reading when Vilkas gives the very obvious verbal cue. If that still isn't clear enough, when he asks Lisara if she's sure, you should stop there. There isn't anything vital to the plot past that point. Just thought I'd put a warning for those who steer clear of sexual content ;)
> 
> While it is somewhat graphic, I'm leaving the rating at M because my lemons are normally even more detailed than the one in this chapter is. Therefore, it doesn't really fall into the E territory, in my opinion. If you feel like it does, and that bothers you, feel free to mention it. I may change it if enough people are bugged.

With their quest accomplished, Lisara and Vilkas headed back in the direction of Whiterun. After a bit of discussion, they opted not to rest in Falkreath or Riverwood for the night and simply travel straight home. Even at half capacity, thanks to their combined strength, the Witches of Glenmoril Coven had stood little chance against them. As a result, it was just after noon. Though they could only ride a little faster than what could be called a "leisurely pace", both had decided it would only be a waste of time to stay in an inn overnight. If they kept their eyes on the horizon and focused on moving forward, they'd be home just in time for Tilma's evening meal.

It should've been a relaxing return trip; there was no pressing, urgent matter hovering over their heads, no enemies chasing at their heels. However, as Lisara looked over at Vilkas for the fifth time during their trip, she realized that, of course, life was never that accommodating.

Vilkas hadn't said much to her thus far, but while he seemed to think the silence was companionable, she felt otherwise. Yesterday, she'd told him that she didn't feel uncomfortable around him. It had been true at the time—at least, somewhat—but today… tension filled the space between them.

It wasn't the sort of tension that emerged from say, an argument between two people who didn't necessarily get along; she'd almost have preferred that. No, it was the type of tension that existed when two people were incredibly attracted to each other, yet for whatever reason, hadn't acted on those emotions. It built and built, until one of the two parties involved couldn't take it anymore—and what came of that was normally not the slow and romantic sort of result.

There shouldn't have been a problem ending their strange sort of impasse. Lisara had never been hesitant in those matters in the past, and from the sounds of it, neither had Vilkas. Yet, for whatever reason, neither of them had taken the next step—the step that would push their somewhat abnormal relationship forward. Both had indicated on multiple separate occasions that they _wanted_ it to happen, but somehow, it still never had.

Trying to save Skyrim from the plethora of dragons that now graced their skies was likely a large part of it. Or trying to stay alive and ensure that they were ten steps ahead of the Dark Brotherhood. Whichever reason, it was frustrating, to say the least.

By the time her mind felt like it would implode from excessive scrutiny of every situation they'd been in, the sun was beginning to sink below the mountains to the west. Lisara let out a harsh exhale, and Vilkas glanced over his shoulder at her, unaware of her analytical thoughts. He raised an eyebrow at her in a silent question and she shook her head, waving her hand in the air dismissively.

Instead of facing forward again like she thought he would, he slowed down. Once he was beside her, he said, "You've been more quiet than usual today."

"Just thinking," she replied, absentmindedly chewing the inside of her lip while avoiding eye contact.

"I gathered that, lass. What about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh," she sighed, "nothing of particular importance. I think I just want to get home and get a chance to truly rest, for once."

He hummed in agreement before looking ahead at the approaching ramparts of Whiterun. The setting sun cast warm rays of gold across the plains, and when they hit the ivory walls that surrounded the city, the entire facade looked as if it were on fire. Combined with the amber, lavender, and rose hues of the sky, the view was breathtaking; she could see why Vilkas was so fond of returning home. Unfamiliar warmth rippled through her chest, and she let the tiniest of smiles grace her lips.

This was a feeling she could definitely get used to.

After a few seconds, with his gaze still trained on the city, he murmured, "Yes, it will be nice, won't it?"

They rode across the remainder of the plans and over the bridge in silence, yet again—though their short conversation helped ease some of the prior tension. After they'd dismounted and handed their reins to the stable boy, they headed up the incline towards the gates with the bag of witch heads in Vilkas' hand. The guard posted at the gate nodded at them in greeting, before pushing open the door for them.

When the massive, overturned ship that served as Jorrvaskr's roof came into view, Vilkas' countenance seemed to lighten up. At once, his posture was more loose, more at ease, and his steps quickened in eager anticipation. She smiled, and trailed after him with a fond expression on her face.

For someone who normally came across as aloof and gruff towards those who weren't close to him, she found that he was surprisingly easy to pin down.

Quickly, they made their way through the small marketplace and up the steps that led to the Gildergreen. Once they'd passed under the archway, however, Vilkas' pace gradually slowed until he came to a sudden stop just in front of her.

"What's the matter?" Lisara questioned after nearly bumping into him.

"There's a crowd gathered at the steps to Jorrvaskr," he mumbled in explanation, hurriedly striding over to join the throng of people. Concerned, she scurried after him, keeping close to his left flank.

When the inhabitants of Whiterun turned towards them, they moved aside in recognition. Through the parting, Lisara saw Aela's trademark fiery mane, and pointed over Vilkas' shoulder at the huntress. He followed her gesture and once he too spotted their fellow Companion, they beelined for her.

Just in front of Aela lay two corpses, face down on the paver stones of the plaza. With his brow furrowed, Vilkas spared them the briefest of glances before looking back up at the huntress, seeking an explanation.

Unapologetically, she shrugged and said, "These two won't be a problem anymore."

"What happened, Aela?" he demanded.

On the opposite side of the path, a blond Nord with quite the impressive beard straightened and sheathed his sword. Lisara sensed he was going to speak, but realized that she didn't recognize him. Once he'd turned to them, he spoke.

"The Silver Hand finally managed to find the courage to attack Jorrvaskr—the idiots. We caught most of them, but I think a few scragglers managed to slip past."

She hadn't thought it possible, but Vilkas' brows lowered even further on his face, resulting in a harsh scowl. With a flick of his wrist in her direction, he turned and they bounded up the remaining steps towards Jorrvaskr.

"We'll take care of them," he growled, hand on the hilt of his greatsword.

After pushing open the heavy wooden doors to the Mead Hall, they stepped inside and were met with the view of Farkas' broad, muscular back. At the sound of the doors opening, he immediately turned around with a scowl intense enough to mirror his twin's.

"Where have you two _been_?" he exclaimed, chest heaving.

Confused at his uncharacteristically hostile tone of voice, Lisara said defensively, "We were doing something at Kodlak's request. Why? What happened?"

Instead of answering her question, he let out a drained sigh. "I hope that whatever it was, it was important. The Silver Hand attacked Jorrvaskr."

"So we've heard," Vilkas grumbled impatiently. "There were a few bodies outside, but Torvar mentioned a few made their way inside."

Farkas nodded, and said, "We handled them, but...Kodlak is… He's dead."

Lisara sucked in a sharp breath, unable to do much else due to the crippling shock that seized her body. Her reaction was nothing in comparison to Vilkas', however. Every drop of blood seemed to drain out of his face, leaving him as pale as the waxen moon. The hand that had been gripping his sword's hilt in preparation for battle slowly fell to his side as he held his brother's gaze.

"What?" he whispered in disbelief, dropping the bag in his hand. It hit the ground with a sickening, wet thud, and if the situation hadn't been so morbid already, Lisara might've cringed.

With a grim expression on his face, Farkas took one step to the side, revealing Kodlak's prone form laying on the ground a few feet away, just in front of the fire pit. He was surrounded by a few other Companions, all with their heads bowed in reverence, albeit saturated with sorrow. Lisara covered her mouth with her hand, tears pooling in her eyes at the sight of the strong, proud leader's corpse.

Vilkas walked forward lethargically, his every step thudding on the wooden planks beneath his feet. When he stood over Kodlak's body, he fell—no, collapsed—to his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, palms up. It was a posture of utter defeat, and Lisara wasn't sure which sight broke her heart more: the one of Kodlak, still and lifeless, or Vilkas, so broken by the loss of someone he had obviously cared for.

When he saw his brother's reaction, Farkas let out the slightest of sighs and stepped up behind Vilkas. Gently, he laid a hand on his twin's shoulder. "Vilkas...he—he died quickly, if it's any sort of comfort. I mean, I don't think he was in much pain."

Still, Vilkas said nothing. A few seconds later, he rose to his feet with a grunt, his eyes still trained on Kodlak. Quietly, he asked, "Was anyone else injured?"

Farkas shook his head in response. When he realized Vilkas still hadn't looked at him, he elaborated, "No, but they stole our fragments of Wuuthrad."

Vilkas clenched his fists and took a deep breath. "Then we bring the fight to them. We leave none alive." He faced them and, in a low voice imbued with hatred, added, "We _will_ avenge Kodlak, and The Silver Hand will know the meaning of true terror before the end."

Farkas and Lisara glanced at each other. With a single nod from Lisara, Farkas agreed, "We're with you, brother."

"Let me...I need to take these—this bag—downstairs. I won't be longer than a few minutes. We leave in ten," Vilkas instructed.

He stalked off before waiting for a response, and Lisara hurried after him. They'd barely made it to the top of the stairs that led down to the living quarters before Vilkas turned around without warning, causing her to nearly slam right into him.

"What—" she started to ask, until he interrupted her.

"I don't need you to come with me, Lisara. Stay here. I'll be quick."

"But I have things in my pack as well," she protested in confusion.

"Hang on to them, then." His dismissal of her was as abrupt as his words, and without further preamble, he stomped down the steps. When he slammed the door shut behind him, she winced.

"This isn't good," she muttered. Overcome with indecision, she stood there, tapping her foot as she stared at the closed door. She started pacing back and forth, trying to decide whether she should follow him or not.

A few seconds later, Farkas approached her from behind. He cleared his throat and advised, "You should go after him."

Sharply, she halted in place and looked back at him, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. "I want to, but—I'm worried about him. He doesn't seem to be handling this very well."

Farkas shook his head as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Vilkas has never handled—what would you call this? He's never handled...emotions...well. When we were pups and first arrived at Jorrvaskr, he became pretty anti-social and quiet. He got a little better when we grew into our teens, but even now—as I'm sure you've seen—he's not overly talkative or open."

"I've definitely noticed," she murmured, turning towards the door once more.

"It seems like he's gotten better since you two have started traveling together, but with the rest of the group, he's still pretty distant."

Lisara let out a sigh, and Farkas quietly asked, "Has he ever told you about...our father?"

At that, she faced Farkas again. "No, he hasn't. He's told me a bit about when you two were younger, but never anything about your father."

Farkas' gaze fell to the floor, and he looked like he was lost in thought as he drummed his fingers against his arm. Finally, he looked back up at her. "I won't tell you everything because I'm sure if Vilkas wanted you to know, he would've told you, but...our father left us here at Jorrvaskr when we were young. Kodlak is the closest thing either one of us have had to a father and…Vilkas really admired him. You're right when you say that he doesn't seem to be handling this well, because he isn't. You should go after him, Lisara. I'm worried about him, too."

She glanced over her shoulder at the door, before meeting Farkas' eyes again. They stared at one another for a few seconds until she nodded, breaking the moment. "Thank you for telling me, Farkas."

He nodded as well in response before giving her a tight smile; Lisara could see that Vilkas wasn't the only one dealing with the pain of losing Kodlak. When he stomped away, back to the opposite end of the Hall, she headed down the stairs.

The stone hallway was dark, and empty; only one sconce was lit, casting deep shadows onto the walls that flickered with the slight draft that the open door had let in. She shut the door behind her, unsure of the exact reason. It felt as if the added barrier allowed for some semblance of privacy, and if Vilkas was indeed hurting as much as Farkas implied he would be, she was sure that privacy would come in handy.

Slowly, she made her way down the hall towards Vilkas' room. His door was shut as well, and that small detail made the already swirling ember of worry in her chest flare up. When she stood just in front of the door, she knocked gently before calling out. He didn't respond, and she cinched her eyebrows even tighter in concern.

"Vilkas? It's Lisara," she tried again. Still, no reply. Hoping he wouldn't be offended that she was invading his space in what was obviously a private moment, she pushed the door open slowly, causing the hinges to creak in protest. He'd had no problem with her being in his room before, but this was a different circumstance. She was worried that would change how he felt about her presence.

His room was darker than she'd anticipated. The candle on his desk was unlit, and the faint light from the hallway revealed that his pack was nowhere to be seen. Confused, she pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside.

"Vilkas?" she called out, though it was obvious he wasn't in his room.

A clatter echoed down the hallway, and she whirled around with her hand on the hilt of her dagger. It was possible that he hadn't returned to his room like he'd said he was going to, but the tiniest possibility that the Dark Brotherhood had finally managed to catch up to him amidst the chaos at Jorrvaskr caused a spike of panic to lance through her.

Instead of calling out his name again, she raced back out into the hall and towards the source of the sound; it seemed like it had come from the Harbinger's room. She ran to the end of the hall, and when she saw the glow peeking out from underneath Kodlak's closed door, she unsheathed her dagger in anticipation.

Without preamble, she shoved the door open, expecting to find a member of the Brotherhood and Vilkas locked in combat.

"Vilkas! Are you—" Her words died in her throat when she saw that it was only Vilkas in the room. He was running his hands through a fur pelt that was draped across the back of the chair Kodlak was often sitting in, a faraway, haunted look in his pale eyes.

Frozen in the doorway, she watched him as he walked away from the chair, letting his fingers drift across the table, then over a book that had been left sitting on Kodlak's nightstand. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of the Harbinger's weapons rack. With a fond expression on his face, he ghosted his fingertips along the edge of the massive greatsword that rested in the center of the rack with reverence.

"Vilkas…?" Lisara asked reticently.

At the sound of her voice, he slowly faced the doorway, that lost look still in his eyes. "Lisara. I didn't hear you come in."

How had he not? She'd practically broken the door down in her haste.

She glanced to her right, spotting the bag of witch heads and Vilkas' pack leaning against the far wall. Instead of returning to his room, it seemed as if he'd come straight to Kodlak's room; the knowledge broke her heart.

"I heard something fall and I thought you were in danger," she explained in a soft voice.

"No, I—I knocked a cup off the table when I was setting the bags down." He turned away from the weapons rack and returned to the table in the corner, collapsing into the same chair he'd sat in when Kodlak had told them of the cure to the curse that plagued the Circle.

Instead of joining him at the table, Lisara remained standing in the doorway. She was worried that if she sat in Kodlak's chair, it might set Vilkas off. The Harbinger's bed just seemed like a wholly inappropriate place to sit as well, so she opted to stand.

A minute later, when he still hadn't said anything, she leaned against the doorframe and asked in a soft voice, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Briefly, he met her eyes before he let his gaze drop to the floor. "I…I don't know...if I can yet."

She nodded in understanding before glancing around the room. "Well...I'm going to drop off a few of my things in your room, so...if you need me, I'll be there."

His gaze was trained on his hands, clasped between his legs. His only response was a nod, and Lisara headed back down the hall. From the way he'd actually acknowledged her and spoken to her, she knew he didn't necessarily wish to be completely alone. However, that didn't mean he was ready to open up just yet, and she wanted him to know that she'd be nearby, if and when he _was_ ready.

That was really all that she _could_ do.

Once she was back in his room, she shrugged her pack off and set it beside the open door. With a quick fire spell, she lit the candle on his desk. After picking it up and taking it around to light all of the candles in the room, a soft, diffused glow filled the space, making it seem cozier and more welcoming than it had when she'd first walked in. Instead of sorting through the junk in her pack like she'd planned on doing, she ambled over to his desk.

The book she'd been reading before they'd left for Glenmoril Coven was still propped open on the surface, and she ran her finger along the line she'd marked. Lost in the world of fantasy, she didn't hear Vilkas' footsteps when he approached the room. It wasn't until part of his armor banged against the doorframe on his way in, that she looked up.

"I didn't think—" she started to say, until he reached her. His hand flew up to cup the back of her head, and his lips crashed into hers.

Her gasp of surprise dissipated in the heat of their kiss. Still fighting to catch up to the moment, she reached up and placed her hand on his chest. His arms moved behind her, cradling her in his embrace. Finally, when he pulled away—she wasn't entirely sure how much time had passed—she stared up at him in confusion.

"What… Where did that come from?" she whispered, lips swollen from his fervor.

With a low groan, he nuzzled the line of her jaw and murmured into her skin, "You asked if I wanted to talk, lass. I do, but I—I can't. Not yet. I need you to help me forget."

"Why would you want to _forget_?"

Leaning up, he pressed another kiss to her lips before leaning back. "I don't want to forget _entirely_ , but here? In this moment? I don't want to think about how much it hurts to lose him, how lost I feel knowing that not only did the man I considered a father die while I wasn't here to protect him, but also that the Companions are now without a leader. I can't— _we_ can't afford to wallow in our sorrow right now. I will deal with it—eventually—but right now, I need to be distracted."

Despite the seriousness of his confession, Lisara couldn't help the smile that teased at the corners of her lips. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and quipped, "So you're using me for my body, is that it?"

"Under normal circumstances, I would never take advantage of a woman in her vulnerable state. But considering that _I_ am the one who needs the distraction, and knowing that you and I have been here before—" He broke off and glanced down at their flush bodies. "—I feel less guilty about it."

"Oh good," she said against his skin as she leaned up to kiss his neck. His hands flew to her waist and his grip tightened in response. "I'd hate for you to stop this time."

When she leaned back and met his heated gaze, his lip curled upwards in a lopsided, suggestive grin. It made her toes curl in delighted anticipation.

"I'm glad we're on the same page. But...lass...if you _do_ want me to stop—if you don't want this to happen now—tell me."

Warmth spread through her chest, and she reached up to wrap her hand around the back of his neck. "That's sweet of you, but if you stop now, Vilkas, I will hurt you," she teased with a wry grin.

He mirrored it with one of his own, and when he leaned down to plant a kiss on the underside of her jaw, she felt more than heard his chuckle. Hastily, he unbuckled the armor of her torso; Lisara thanked the Nine that he'd helped her undo her armor before, and therefore, was rather talented at it now. He tossed it aside and she was left in only her brassiere on her upper torso, but still had her leather leggings on.

Without warning, he hoisted her up into the air, and she let out a surprised squeak as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her over to the bed as if she weighed no more than a feather, and she supposed that must be how it felt to him, with his already immense strength and supernatural abilities.

Gently, and excruciatingly slow, he lowered her until her back hit the soft fur of his pelt, spread across the top of his bed. With a hunger in his eyes that she'd yet to see thus far, he gradually peeled off her leggings as he straightened. When she was left in only her undergarments, the corner of his lips twitched upwards as he gazed down at her.

"Beautiful," he murmured, never taking his eyes off her.

Like a maiden, she blushed, much to her chagrin. In an attempt to cover it up, she reached her hand out to him. "It's your turn."

The smile that had teased at his lips emerged once more, and this time, it transformed into a full-blown smirk. He quirked an eyebrow at her before quickly shedding his armor, and it clanked against the stone when he dropped it onto the ground. Seconds later, he stood bare before her from the waist up.

It was her turn to tease, now. With a loaded flick of her gaze to his lower region, she looked back up at him and commanded, "Pants, too."

His low, suggestive chuckle caused her lower abdomen to tighten in response. After reaching down and unbuckling his greaves, he shoved his own leather armor off and kicked it to the side, leaving him in nothing more than his loincloth. In response, Lisara bit the corner of her lip, raking her gaze down his muscular, virile body.

He must've recognized the look in her eyes, because he reached out and encircled her ankle with his strong grip and tugged her closer to him. A sharp gasp escaped her, and when he propped her leg up on his shoulder and looked down at her with the most heated gaze she'd ever been the recipient of, she swore to Sithis she hadn't been a good enough agent of his to deserve such a man.

When Vilkas planted a soft kiss on the inside of her calf, she arched her back in response. She felt him smile against her skin before he made his way down her leg, closer to her center. Frustrated, she arched her back again and let out a groan when he reached up and held her hips down against the bed.

"Vilkas, don't tease me," she implored, her annoyance audible in her voice.

"It will be worth it, lass. Be patient." When he kissed the inside of her thigh, she felt his tongue swirl against her skin, and she bit back a moan.

"We don't have time to be patient! Just—" She cut herself off with a groan, throwing her head back against the pelt in exasperation.

He chuckled louder this time. "I never thought I'd see the day when you sassed me for taking too long. Do you really—"

With a roll of her eyes, she sat up quickly and reached out to grasp him through his loincloth. He let out a choked groan and gripped her knee in surprise, giving her a wide-eyed look. She wasn't holding on to him hard, but it was tight enough to indicate her impatience.

"What—" He started to say, until she stroked him and interrupted him yet again, earning her a deep, guttural groan this time.

She looked up at him, trying to channel all of her desire and want for him into her gaze. "Vilkas, I have waited far too long for this moment, and your brother will probably come down to look for us any minute now. I don't want you to tease me. I want you to _take_ me."

He looked like he was about to speak again, until he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows instead. "Whatever you command me to do, my lady," he quipped.

Again, he tugged her closer, but this time, he angled her hips upwards. Without the previous languidness that he'd had when he'd initially undressed her, he tugged off her underclothes and lifted her back up. Confused, she wound her arms around his neck and was glad that she did when he quickly reversed their positions. With a slight smack, he fell back against the wall and pulled her up against him, causing her legs to fall to his sides, essentially making her straddle him.

He lifted her hips and when she felt him pressing at her entrance, she glanced up into his eyes in surprise. With a teasing grin, he murmured, "You said don't wait."

She couldn't help but let out a chuckle, and cupped his face in her hands. "I'm glad you listened—for once."

After holding her gaze for a second, he leaned in and kissed her—deeply. His tongue stroked along the side of hers, sending flutters through her lower abdomen and causing her to grip his shoulders tightly in anticipation. Gently, he lowered her, and when she felt his thick length inside of her, she let her head drop back as she emitted a low moan.

He pressed his lips against the curve of her neck, and she slid her hands up his neck until her fingers intertwined with the long strands of his hair. When she bottomed out, she gripped his hair tightly in reflex. Instead of wincing, he grunted, low in his chest, and lifted her up before slamming her back down without warning.

That elicited a sharp cry from her, and after that, it was as if he transformed into an animal. Any prior romance or sentimentality disappeared, and all that was left were two people who desperately needed this raw, primal connection.

With every subsequent time he lifted and dropped her again, she let out another loud moan, and he answered with a grunt of his own. When it felt like she was going to break apart in his arms, he surprised her and lifted her off completely before moving out from underneath her. She was left balancing herself on the bed on her hands and knees, and when he pulled her back against him, she let out a surprised gasp once again.

Without any further preamble, he thrust into her again and she sucked in a sharp breath before letting it back out in yet another cry of sheer pleasure. Now, with every thrust of his hips, he felt even deeper than before and all she could do was rest her upper body on the soft pelt below her and take him in.

Within seconds, she felt the coil of tension within her body tighten like before, and she gripped the pelt as she fought to catch her breath. Desperately, she reached back to him and he grabbed her hand in his, his grip nearly crushing her.

"Vilkas...Vilkas, I—"

He cut her off by leaning down and pressing his lips to her shoulder blade, the damp strands of his hair brushing against her skin. "I know, Lisara, I can feel you. Don't hold back. I want to feel you around me," he grunted, his words peppered with his gasps for air.

She trembled, so close to the edge and yet unable to fall over it for whatever reason. After he drove into her a few more times, and still she hadn't reached her peak, he reached around her hip and stroked his fingers along her tender, sensitive skin. When he brushed against the bundle of nerves at her apex, she gasped and curved her back, wrapping her fingers around his wrist; he'd planted his hand against the pelt for balance.

With only a few strokes from him, she shattered into a million pieces in his arms with a shaky cry. It felt as if the entire world fell away and all she could feel was him; him inside of her, around her, breathing his release into her ear as he joined her in utter bliss.

When the sound of his harsh breaths gradually decreased in intensity, she turned her head towards him and finally opened her eyes; she hadn't even realized she'd squeezed them shut. He brushed his lips against hers, seemingly too tired to do anything else, or say anything else.

A minute or so later, she went to speak when his door opened suddenly, banging against the stone wall behind it with a loud thud. Frantically, Vilkas pulled back and yanked his discarded shirt off of the ground, tossing it over her in a vain attempt to preserve her pride.

"Well, well, brother...I was wondering what was taking you two so long."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the tension gets a much-needed outlet! Also, I have no excuses for how long it took me to update, aside from the usual: school and life. Sorry.
> 
> Thanks to StarryNight101 for reading through this for me before I posted, as always.
> 
> We're finally towards the end of the Companions quest line, which means Vilkas and Lisara will have to deal with the Dark Brotherhood as they continue on to save Skyrim :D


	16. The Funeral

At the sound of Farkas' voice, Lisara couldn't help but burst into laughter at how comical the situation really was. Shortly after Vilkas had draped his shirt over her back, he'd leaned down to cover the still-exposed parts of her body like a true gentleman, sacrificing his own dignity in the process. She felt the rumble in his chest as he chuckled at his brother's teasing before he straightened. He turned away from the door and quickly got dressed again, before blocking Farkas' view of the bed so that she could get dressed as well.

Once they were both decent, they met Farkas at the door. Vilkas had a wry grin on his face that mirrored his twin's, and Lisara's cheeks were warm with a newfound blush that she hadn't exhibited in quite some time; it was always embarrassing to be caught in the act.

"When a good few minutes had passed and you two still hadn't come back, I thought something must've been up," Farkas quipped.

Again, Vilkas chuckled under his breath. "Thanks for waiting until the most opportune moment, brother."

"Hey, I could've burst into the room thirty seconds earlier and that would've ruined the mood, don't you think?"

Lisara shook her head at Farkas' version of doing them a favor. "That  _is_  true, so you most definitely have  _my_ thanks, Farkas."

Farkas nodded with a wide grin still on his face, before moving out of the doorway. Vilkas and Lisara grabbed their packs, and he held the door open for her to pass through first. As she brushed past him, they locked eyes for a moment and a rare, genuine smile spread across his face. She returned it, and he followed her out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

When they headed back up to the main hall, Farkas playfully nudged her in the shoulder to catch her attention. She glanced up at him, and he winked, eliciting a quiet laugh from her.

On her other side, Vilkas, without looking at his brother, said, "Leave her alone, Farkas." He didn't sound angry in the slightest—more like he was teasingly chastising his twin because he felt obligated, or because he was worried that Farkas was bothering her with his openly-obvious acknowledgment of what they'd done.

Farkas waved his hand in the air before moving ahead of them and tromping up the stairs first. Lisara reached over and lightly touched Vilkas' hand, causing him to look down at her with a silent question in his eyes.

"It doesn't bother me," she reassured him.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement, before replying, "I'm glad you told me. Farkas has a tendency to be . . . facetious, sometimes, but he does it out of fondness. I didn't want him to make you feel uncomfortable if he did it in front of the others."

Before they headed up the stairs, she about-faced and stopped, placing her hand on Vilkas' chest. The cold metal of his armor was oddly comforting against her palm. She looked up into his pale, riveting eyes with a tiny smile teasing at the corners of her lips. "I'm not uncomfortable. I'm happy."

His eyes softened as he grasped her hand in his, and lifted it to his lips to plant a chaste kiss against her palm. "As am I, lass."

Her smile widened, and she turned back around, leading the way up into the mead hall. Apparently, Farkas had told everyone in the Companions what he'd walked in on, and when they moved up past the banister, a small round of applause rang out. This time, it was Vilkas' turn to go beet red, and he waved his hands at his comrades to stop. They all dispersed, and the mood sobered rather quickly once Vilkas caught sight of Kodlak's body where it now rested atop one of the long tables, draped in a sheet.

Farkas walked back up to them and when he saw where his brother's gaze had landed, the expression on his face fell as well. "I'm going to stay and oversee the funeral."

"You'll wait until we return?" Vilkas questioned, his expression equally serious.

"Of course, brother." Farkas clapped Vilkas on the shoulder, and subsequently moved away, back towards the small group standing around Kodlak's body.

Vilkas watched his twin's receding back for a moment, until he looked down at Lisara. "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded, her countenance grim. Briefly, he adjusted the strap of his pack on his shoulder before turning and heading for the door. In silence, they made their way through the city with haste. After passing through the main gate with a nod in the guard's direction, they proceeded down the hill and towards the stables.

The sun had set long ago and above them, the star-ridden sky stretched across the wide expanse of Skyrim. They normally didn't ride at night, due in part to their issues with the Dark Brotherhood, and generally because it wasn't the best idea. Just because they could handle bandits just fine, didn't mean that was a good reason to provoke them or push their luck.

After they'd fastened their packs to their respective mounts' saddles, Lisara glanced over at Vilkas. "Are you sure you want to ride now? We can wait until—"

He stopped her in mid-sentence with a sharp jerk of his head. "No. I don't want to give them a chance to recoup. We ride now."

A small sigh escaped her and she nodded in understanding, before echoing, "We ride now."

Without further preamble, Vilkas flicked his reins and shot out of the stables, quickly reaching a full gallop. Lisara followed after him, dust rising in their wake. She had no idea where they were heading, but clearly, Vilkas had received information from someone who had been present during the attack. He rode with purpose, with clear direction, and she trusted him to take them where they needed to go.

They rode directly north, and when the air around them cooled to an uncomfortable temperature, and the grass beneath their horses' hooves started frosting over with white, she realized they were heading towards Dawnstar. A few miles outside of the city proper, Vilkas veered east. Up ahead, a small stone fort rested on the hilltop, obscured by the sudden snowstorm that had hit while they'd been racing towards their destination. They came to a halt just below the hill at the start of the path and dismounted, tucking their horses out of sight and under what little shelter they had.

Instead of removing their packs as per usual, Vilkas simply stashed a few health potions into the pockets of his pants. Lisara raised an eyebrow at him, and when he saw her expression, he explained, "I don't plan on pilfering the hold like we usually do. We get in, we show them who they're dealing with, get the fragments of Wuuthrad, and get out."

She nodded in agreement, grabbing a couple of health and magicka vials for herself—her pockets were far too small to hold actual potions. Together, they crept up the incline, and Lisara was grateful for the cover of the storm. The Silver Hand would likely never see them coming.

On their way up the path, one of the Silver Hand members stepped out of a bush, adjusting his pants. Without a sound, Lisara feinted and moved behind him, sliding her dagger up and under his ribs before he even knew she was there. With a shocked expression, he collapsed to the ground, and she slit his throat before he could make a sound. She looked up and nodded at Vilkas, indicating that they were clear to move on. After he returned the gesture, they continued towards the hold.

Once they were just outside of the main entrance, they pressed up on opposite sides of the door. She unsheathed her daggers, and he drew his greatsword. With a nod from both of them, Vilkas pushed open the door and they slipped inside. After crossing the threshold, Lisara caught the door before the wind could slam it shut. By the time she'd turned back around, Vilkas was already heading down the stairs straight ahead.

Muttering under her breath, she trailed after him. The stairs were long and steep, and when they reached the second landing, she wondered where everyone was. For a . . . somewhat hidden base, it seemed rather empty of Silver Hand members.

A minute later, when they reached the base of the steps, they came to a closed wooden door. Like they had outside, they flanked the entrance and Vilkas looked at Lisara to confirm that she was ready. With a lift of her dagger, she gestured to the door. Just before he kicked it in, she saw the grim expression on his face and knew this likely would be the bloodiest battle they'd fought together yet; the rage that burned within Vilkas was indicative of that.

As soon as the door crashed against the wall behind it, Vilkas raced into the room and let out a shout, causing the Silver Hand members to fly off down the dark, stone hallway. As useful as his shouts were, they had a rather generalized path of destruction. When Vilkas rushed down the hall after the three enemies he'd targeted, Lisara ran to the side of the main room to take care of the few stragglers that the shout hadn't touched.

When she was about to strike down her final enemy, Vilkas appeared behind the man and swung his greatsword down. The force of his blow embedded the blade in the man's shoulder, and his blood spurted upwards before landing on Lisara's face. She turned away in disgust, wiping her face with a grimace.

"Was that necessary? I had him," she insisted as she wiped her hand on her leggings.

"I know you did. I just—" He broke off, his chest heaving with harsh breaths.

Lisara glanced up at him and when she saw the familiar, crazed look in his eyes, she just nodded. She'd seen him look like that before, prior to transforming into his werewolf form; understandably, he had a lot of pent up tension he needed to release, and she would give him that opportunity.

After all, wasn't that why they were here?

A quick glance around the room proved that they'd cleared it, and they headed down the hallway Vilkas had been in earlier. Just before the next door, the Silver Hand had placed a spike into the ground, topped with the severed head of a werewolf. Its mouth was open in a wide, silent scream, and she noticed that they'd pulled its fangs out—likely before it had died from its wounds. With a shake of her head that stemmed from a mixture of sorrow and anger, she faced forward again. In front of her, Vilkas was staring at the same thing, fists clenched and shoulders tight with outrage.

Without a word, she sidled up to him and laid a hand on his upper arm. As if he were breaking out of a trance, he started and looked down at her. He nodded to indicate that he was fine in answer to the silent question in her eyes, and with his greatsword in hand once more, pushed open the door ahead of them.

Or rather, attempted to. The great mass of his body collided with the locked door, and he let out a rough  _oomph_.

Lisara stepped back from him and asked, "Locked?"

"Aye," he grunted.

They turned and headed back down the hallway towards the stone steps they'd come down a few minutes before. A cursory glance revealed an open archway on the opposite side of the room that Lisara had fought in, and she jerked her head towards it. Together, they made their way through the archway into what looked like an old dining hall of some sort. A few bookshelves directly across from the entrance had been pushed over, nearly on top of a dining table that had been thrust against the wall.

It was as they were standing there, staring at the strange mess of sorts, that a Silver Hand member sprinted down the hall and dove for them with a cry. Vilkas quickly parried the attack and shoved the man back so he could face him head-on. Though she was concerned, Lisara decided to sit this fight out and let Vilkas handle it. One, it was only one enemy, and two, she knew he needed this right now.

The fight was over quickly. With a single upward slash, Vilkas sliced clean through the man's armor and he fell to the ground without a sound—aside from the thud of his body hitting the stones.

Vilkas never turned around to look at Lisara. Instead, he continued down the hall and she followed after him without a word. The next room was empty, and they proceeded down the hall to their left and up the next flight of stairs. Another closed door blocked their path, and without his former confirmation, Vilkas simply pushed it open.

It was a room similar in shape to the first, and almost methodically, they made their way through the area, cutting down each member of the Silver Hand that they came across. Lisara didn't do much, deferring to Vilkas to take care of the bulk of the enemies. She turned and watched their backs, only dispatching the occasional enemy that Vilkas missed in his rampage.

One of the members tried to yield and sprinted away from them, with Vilkas in immediate pursuit. When the man tried to insist that the Silver Hand fall back, in an angered voice, Vilkas shouted at him that true Nords never backed down.

 _Well, I suppose that_ is _true_ , Lisara thought as she watched Vilkas cut the man down.

It was extremely misplaced, but she almost felt sorry for the Silver Hand. They deserved every bit of revenge that she and Vilkas were delivering, but the way that Vilkas was handing things was . . . uncharacteristically cruel. By the time they cleared this floor and headed down into the cellar, she was staring at the back of his head with cinched brows and pursed lips.

He didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation—and really, this was neither the time nor the place—but she knew they'd have to talk after this was all over.

The cellar was colder than the upper floors, and mist drifted just above the stones beneath their feet. Without a word, Vilkas untied the pelt around his waist and handed it back to Lisara. It was reminiscent of the first dungeon they'd cleared together, and she took it with a small smile on her face. She knew he wasn't trying to be romantic in the slightest—not then, and especially not now—but the gesture didn't go unappreciated by her.

They made their way through the winding halls, flanked on either side by rows and rows of barrels. Clearly, the Silver Hand stored their food and mead down in the cellar, which made sense. The air was cooler down here and therefore, things would stay more fresh. Lisara couldn't help but think that also applied to bodies, and hoped they wouldn't find too many more on their way. The first deceased werewolf they'd seen had only invoked Vilkas' ire, and she couldn't begin to imagine how much worse it could get.

And she'd seen it at nearly every level.

When they were turning a well-lit corner, Vilkas paused in mid-step and held his hand out, causing Lisara to bump right into it.

"What—" She started to question, but he held his finger to his lips and pointed down at the ground. They'd almost stepped on a trap spring, and she nodded in thanks to him. He returned the gesture, and that was when she heard the light tapping of footsteps coming their way.

They backed up against the far wall, and when the footsteps neared the opposite side of the wall they were pressed against, Vilkas moved forward and stepped on the stone. A spiked metal gate swung out of the wall and stabbed a woman right in the back before sending her flying into the corner with a loud cry. Just in case that somehow didn't kill her, Lisara darted forward and drove her dagger into the woman's back.

With the trap now disabled, they headed farther into the bowels of the fort. Deeper and deeper they traveled, until they reached a room with a strange cylindrical structure in the middle of the room. It was frigid in the chamber, but before Lisara had a chance to question it, two of the Silver Hand appeared from behind the cylinder.

Within minutes, they were dispatched. A shiver wracked her body and she pulled Vilkas' pelt tighter around her shoulders. After quickly looting their bodies—something they'd been avoiding doing thus far, and Lisara suspected Vilkas needed a breather—he gestured with his head towards the far tunnel.

Snow coated the stones at the mouth of the tunnel, and Lisara shook her head in confusion. "We must be far below the surface for snow to form down here."

"I suspect we are," Vilkas replied, his hands on his hips. "Are you all right so far?"

"I'm fine. I honestly haven't been doing much . . . I'm just ridiculously cold," she quipped with a quirk of her lips.

"Does the pelt help?" he asked, brows furrowed.

She nodded vigorously before adjusting her belt so that it kept the pelt in place. "Yes, yes it does! I just . . . let's just keep moving?"

He nodded in agreement before brushing past her and leading the way down the icy tunnel. There were only two enemies in the next room, but another severed head rested on a pike beside the single lit torch. Vilkas halted in mid-step, staring at it with a level of concentration that was unnerving. Movement caught Lisara's eye and she glanced upwards with her hand on the hilt of her dagger. When she realized what it was she was looking at, she sucked in a sharp gasp.

The sound of her breath caused Vilkas to look back at her, and when he followed her gaze, he made a sound of pure shock. Without another word, he was racing up the snow-covered ramp. With a concerned groan, Lisara hurried after him.

There were two cages nestled in the rock. One contained a werewolf that looked long dead, while the other held a rather feral-looking one. Blood stained the floor of its cage, and it was hunched in the corner, facing away from them. Its grating, deep breaths filled the silence, and Vilkas stood just in front of the bars of its cage, staring at it with deep pity.

More pikes, complete with severed heads, lined the edge of the cliff, and Lisara looked away with her hand covering her mouth. She'd seen death in her lifetime—as a member of the Dark Brotherhood, how could she not have? But this . . . this was on a whole different, much crueler level. Knowing what Vilkas was made it all that much worse.

Eventually, he turned away from the werewolf, gazing down at her with a pained expression. They didn't speak for a moment, simply gazed into each other's eyes. A few seconds later, in a quiet voice, Lisara asked, "Did you want to . . . ?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "There's nothing we can do for either of them now. Let's keep going."

With a nod from Lisara, Vilkas about-faced and headed back down the ramp. Their boots crunched against the thick snow, and when they reached the end of the next tunnel, the powder gave way to stone again. This was by far the largest underground hold she'd ever seen, and she wondered if they'd ever reach the end.

There were considerably less enemies this far in than there'd been up above, and they made their way through the tunnels quickly. Halfway down the next main hall, an alcove opened up to their left. When Vilkas glanced over, he froze in place, his shoulders tight once more. Lisara followed his gaze and immediately reeled back in surprise at the sight.

Apparently, the Silver Hand tortured their captives here before moving them to the holding cells they'd just passed. Cages, suspended in the air and soaked with blood, both fresh and old, filled the alcove. In the one on the far right, a human male was sprawled out—or at least, as much as he could be in the miniscule space.

Silently, after sheathing his sword, Vilkas made his way over to the man. He lifted his limp arm and placed two fingers against the inside of his wrist, before setting it down gently once more. After facing Lisara, he shook his head in denial. Her expression fell, and they lethargically continued on.

So much death . . . and for what? Bigotry? Fear? It was heartbreaking.

After climbing another flight of stone steps, they walked into an expansive room that was significantly warmer than the tunnels they'd emerged from. A group of enemies rose from a table up above them, and Vilkas drew his sword again with fire blazing in his eyes. There were too many of them to let him fight alone, but Lisara hung back and only stepped in with her daggers after Vilkas moved on to the next one, his fury driving him.

Once all three of them were dead, Vilkas wiped his blade on his pants; his heavy breaths filled the room, echoing back from the stone walls. As she sheathed her daggers, Lisara climbed the short staircase to where the Silver Hand had been sitting upon their entrance. On the table lay the shattered fragments of Wuuthrad.

Over her shoulder, she called out, "Vilkas! Over here!"

He moved out from behind a pillar and trekked up the stairs to stand beside her. Once he saw the fragments, he let out a deep sigh of relief. "Thank Talos. At least we can bring these home."

Equally relieved, Lisara nodded in response. "Neither of us brought a pack, so I'll see if I can at least find a bag to carry these in until we get back outside."

With a nod, he turned away. "I'll see if I can't find a shortcut back up to the surface. I'd rather not walk back through the tunnels," he suggested, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Images of the man in his cage, and the werewolves they'd found, flitted through her mind, and she nodded in understanding. He headed back down the stairs while Lisara made her way around the landing. Underneath the wooden table, she found a burlap sack—likely the same one the Silver Hand had used to bring the fragments here. Quickly, she collected the shards and carefully placed them in the bag, cinching it tightly before slinging it over her shoulder.

Vilkas was no longer in the room, and Lisara glanced around, trying to find where he'd gone. On her left, a tunnel wound out of the room and she made her way down it, suspecting this was the route he'd chosen. She found him at the end of the tunnel in front of a barred door, sword in hand. Blood dripped from the tip and when she glanced down at his feet, she saw he'd shoved a corpse aside with his boot.

"Vilkas?" she called out, warily.

He turned around slowly, and when he saw that it was her, he re-sheathed his sword. "Found an exit," he mumbled, lifting the bar off of its perch.

"Okay," she replied, watching him with concern in her eyes. He seemed so drained of energy suddenly, and she hoped he was doing all right.

Without another word, he pushed the door open and the harsh wind of Skyrim spiraled into the hall. He blocked most of it with his wide frame, and she followed him outside, right on his heels. The snowstorm had ceased, and the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, throwing shades of gold and soft rose across the landscape. More time had passed than she'd initially thought.

Vilkas paused, and the two of them watched the sunrise in silence. Though their journey through the hold had been sobering, and extremely bleak, the view they were experiencing now seemed to hold a shred of hope in it. Knowing he didn't wish to speak about it now, Lisara reached over and intertwined their fingers; she just wanted to let him know that she was here, whenever he needed her.

Seemingly grateful, he squeezed her hand briefly before pulling away and traipsing back down the hill towards their mounts.

Lisara transferred the fragments of Wuuthrad to the safety of her actual pack, and once they'd saddled up, they headed back for Whiterun.

* * *

_Five hours later._

All of the Companions gathered round the forge, surrounded by banners of red that were decorated with the emblem of the guild. Despite the morose event, the sun shone down upon them brightly, warming Lisara's back and shoulders. Beside her stood Vilkas and Farkas, and to her left, Aela. Vilkas had his hands clasped in front of him, and Farkas mirrored his twin's respectful stance. Aela was a bit more informal—her arms were crossed over her chest—but the expression on her face held every bit of the same reverence as the rest of the Companions.

Atop the forge itself, Kodlak's body was nestled in a fine fur pelt on top of a stack of lumber. The base of the forge had been embellished with the same banners as the ones that stood behind them, and various lit candles were perched on the edge of the forge's lip. It was a funeral fit for a king.

When the chatter died down, Eorlund stepped forward and called out, "Who will begin?"

To Lisara's surprise, Aela moved ahead to the center of their group. "I will."

Many of the Companions nodded in agreement, and Aela ambled up to stand in front of the forge. With a stern expression, she gazed up at Kodlak's body. In a strong voice, she began. "Before the ancient flame, we grieve."

Behind Lisara, the Companions echoed Aela's words.

Then, Eorlund spoke, "At this loss . . ."

Beside her, Vilkas and Farkas finished, "We weep." A beat passed before Farkas added, "We shout."

The sheer amount of communion and loyalty between the members of the Companions staggered Lisara. Many of her brothers and sisters in the Brotherhood had perished before, and though they had their own funeral rites, they were nowhere near this emotional, or united in their sorrow. Often, they moved on to new contracts immediately after the funeral was over. She sensed that that likely would not be the case with Kodlak's farewell.

This time, Vilkas was the one to step forth. With eyes laden with unshed tears, his voice rang out, "And for ourselves . . . we take our leave." Again, the Companions echoed his words with a sense of finality.

Aela lifted the unlit torch in her hand that Lisara hadn't noticed before, and with Eorlund's assistance, ignited the tip. She approached Kodlak's pyre, and after a brief moment of hesitation, tossed the torch at the base of the logs. Immediately, the entire pyre was consumed by the flames, and the Companions all watched as it burned. Some of the members, like Ria and Tilma, weeped openly, while others watched with stern, but nonetheless emotional expressions.

Lisara herself felt tears pricking at her eyes, even though she hadn't had the pleasure of knowing Kodlak long. From what she'd heard from Vilkas and Farkas, and what little she'd spoken to the former Harbinger, she knew that he'd been a kind and just man. Skyrim—no, the world—was a little dimmer now that he was gone.

As the flames continued to burn, Aela turned to her fellow Companions who were still gathered in front of the forge. "His spirit is departed. Members of the Circle, let us withdraw to the Underforge to grieve our lost together."

Everyone starting murmuring, and Lisara turned to watch the rest of the Companions leave as they headed back for Jorrvaskr. Though she knew of the Circle's existence and their secret, she wasn't technically a part of the Circle. She was unsure of whether to follow everyone else, or remain with Vilkas.

Eorlund answered that question for her. She heard his heavy footsteps approaching, and turned around, meeting his gaze. He gestured to the forge and asked, "Do you have the fragments of Wuuthrad, still?"

 _It's only been a few hours. How in the world would I have lost them that soon?_  she thought, slightly irritated. Considering the circumstances, though, she knew that hadn't been what he'd meant to imply.

She nodded, and he explained, "I'll have to prepare them for mounting again."

"They're right here," she replied, untying the burlap sack from her belt and handing it over to Eorlund.

He took the bag from her before saying, "I have another favor to ask of you. There's one last shard that Kodlak kept in his chambers. Would you mind getting it for me? I'm not sure I'm the best one to go searching through his things."

 _And I am?_ Lisara hesitated, but when the members of the Circle moved past her and headed down the steps, she let out a slight sigh as she nodded again. "Of course I don't mind. I'll be back."

By the time she made her way down the steps, the Circle had already disappeared. Lisara's gaze dropped to the ground momentarily, before she looked up at Jorrvaskr again. She was worried about Vilkas and how he was handling saying his final farewell to Kodlak, but apparently, she would have to wait to speak with him.

Hurriedly, she made her way into the mead hall and down the stairs to the living quarters. With steps that now seemed all too familiar, she headed to Kodlak's room. When she opened the door, she was struck with how empty it seemed without the former Harbinger's charismatic and warm presence. A melancholy sigh left her as she crossed the threshold.

 _Where would I keep a fragment of an ax that was very, very important to_ me?

The small stand beside the weapons rack seemed like a good option, but when she rifled through the drawers, the shard was nowhere to be seen. She faced the room again with her hands on her hips. He wouldn't have stashed the shard on the bookshelf, as it was too easy to lose or be knocked off by a book. That left the nightstand beside the bed.

When she pulled open the single drawer, the shard was resting on top of a leather-bound journal. She grabbed the shard, but hesitated when she went to pull it out. At the last second, she grabbed the journal as well, tucking it into the back of her leggings, underneath her armor.

She quickly made her way back upstairs and headed outside towards the forge once more. Eorlund was already back at work, grinding the edge of a blade on the whetstone. She approached him, and when he glanced up and saw her, he said, "You're back."

With a nod, she held out the fragment. "Here."

"Thank you, lass. Your siblings have withdrawn to the Underforge. I believe they're waiting for you."

"Waiting . . .? For me?" Lisara echoed, tilting her head in confusion. She hadn't thought they'd include her, but perhaps Vilkas had explained that she knew about them.

Without further preamble, she headed back down the stone steps and hung a left. The name of the location, the Underforge, was telling enough already, but she wasn't one-hundred percent sure on exactly where the entrance was. As she moved past the cliff face, a slight breeze tickled her cheek. With narrowed eyes, she turned to face the breeze, reaching out to touch the rock. Glancing upwards briefly before looking ahead again, she figured it couldn't hurt to try, and pushed the rock. To her surprise, it shifted to the side, allowing her enough space to squeeze through.

The tunnel was narrow and dark, but she heard the echo of Vilkas' voice drifting up towards her. He sounded angry, and the knowledge had her quickening her steps. Finally, the tunnel opened up into a small, circular chamber. Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela were standing around a thick column that supported an empty bowl, arguing by the looks of their postures.

Well, Vilkas and Aela were arguing. Farkas was standing just behind his brother with his arms crossed as he listened.

Vilkas shook his head at Aela in what looked like frustration. "The old man had one wish before he died, and he didn't get it. It's as simple as that, Aela."

The huntress crossed her arms over her chest as well. "Being moon-born is not so much of a curse as you think it is, Vilkas."

Without a word, Lisara sidled up to Farkas who playfully nudged her with his shoulder, though the look in his eyes was a bit less bright than usual. She offered a small smile in greeting, but turned to watch Vilkas and Aela.

"Right, that's fine for  _you_. But  _he_  wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor, and know the glories of Sovngarde. All that was taken from him!"

Lisara started at Vilkas' anger. Kodlak had spoken of wishing to rest in Sovngarde, but she hadn't realized just how important that was to Nords.

Aela, seemingly unperturbed, replied, "And you avenged him. All is well."

Farkas shook his head beside Lisara. "Kodlak didn't care for vengeance."

Vilkas gestured towards his brother, indicating that he agreed. "No, Farkas, you're right. He didn't." After facing Aela again, he added, "That's not what this is about. We should be honoring Kodlak  _and_  his wishes, no matter what we may think about the blood ourselves."

Aela didn't reply right away, glancing over her shoulder at Lisara for a brief moment. Eventually, she faced Vilkas again with a sigh. "You're right. It's what he wanted, and he deserved to have it."

Vilkas nodded, pleased with the way the conversation was now heading. "Before he died, Kodlak spoke of a way to cure his soul. That's what Lisara and I were out taking care of for him when the . . . when the Silver Hand invaded. He said it may be possible even in death. You know of the legends of the Tomb of Ysgramor, yes?"

Without a change in her expression, Aela replied, "The souls of the Harbingers go there to heed the call of northern steel. The problem with your idea, Vilkas, is that we can't enter the tomb without Wuuthrad. It's been in pieces for years— _thousands_  of years."

Out of nowhere, Eorlund's voice rang out in the small chamber. They all turned to face the entrance where he was standing. "And dragons were just stories, and elves once ruled Skyrim." He stepped forward and joined them. "Just because something is, doesn't mean it must be."

Those words rang truer than any others that Lisara had heard. She gazed at Eorlund with newfound respect and awe; he likely kept the Companions together just as much as Tilma and Kodlak himself had.

Eorlund continued. "The blade is a weapon, a tool. Tools are meant to be broken and repaired."

Vilkas' jaw dropped and he stared at the handle that was visible on Eorlund's back. "Is that—Did you repair Wuuthrad?"

The elder blacksmith reached over his shoulder and pulled a fully-formed Wuuthrad before him. "This is the first time I've had all of the pieces. 'The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered.' The flames of Kodlak fueled the rebirth of Wuuthrad, and now, it will take you to meet him once more."

Eorlund then turned to Lisara and said, "As the one who bore the fragments of Wuuthrad, I think you should be the one to carry it into battle."

Astonished, Lisara took a step back and held up her hands. "Oh no, no. It just happened to be me that brought the fragments back. It could've easily been Vilkas. He should wield it."

Vilkas shook his head. "No, lass. If Eorlund wants you to wield it, you deserve to wield it."

Lisara dropped her gaze to the floor, unsure of how to politely decline the honor. She knew that it  _was_  an honor—a great one—but it wasn't one she felt qualified to accept, for more reasons than the one she'd expressed.

Eventually, she met Vilkas' gaze again. "I think that  _you_ should wield it, Vilkas. Truly. For starters, I'm not a Nord. The significance of Wuuthrad and this entire . . . situation, is not as profound for me as it is for all of you. That, and I couldn't possibly lift that massive ax. It looks terribly heavy."

At that, Aela chuckled. "She has a point. That thing is nearly double her size."

Vilkas laughed as well, before reaching out and taking Wuuthrad from Eorlund. "So be it, then. We prepare to journey to the Tomb of Ysgramor."

"The hour is late after Kodlak's funeral," Eorlund noted. "Why don't you all head inside and enjoy the feast that Tilma has prepared in remembrance of the Harbinger. Set off in the morning?"

Farkas' eyes lit up at the mention of a feast, and he immediately headed for the exit. "That sounds like a great plan."

Aela moved to follow him, but at the last second, turned and faced Vilkas and Lisara. "Vilkas, you  _do_  deserve to wield Wuuthrad. I know that voice in the back of your mind is haunting you, the one that tells you to doubt yourself because you weren't here to save him, but it's not true. I can't think of anyone else who deserves this honor more than you."

Relieved that Aela had said something to Vilkas, Lisara reached out and took his hand, a smile spreading across her face. When she saw the expression of relief on  _his_ face, her smile widened. It meant a lot to him that Lisara believed in him, and she knew that, but to have someone else who understood the ramifications and gravity of the curse reassure him . . . that was an entirely different thing.

In a quiet voice, he said, "Thank you, Aela."

Aela nodded with a smile on her face as well, though like Farkas' expression earlier, it was tinged with sadness. She glanced down at Vilkas and Lisara's joined hands and clapped him on the shoulder. "You should enjoy the happiness you now have while you can," she advised softly, before following after Farkas and leaving the Underforge.

The two of them watched her depart in silence, still hand-in-hand. Once the grating sound of rock against rock faded away, Vilkas turned towards Lisara. "Lass . . . thank you for letting me wield Wuuthrad."

"Vilkas, you don't have to thank me. It's something that  _you_ should do, not I. I wouldn't feel right taking that from you."

"It—It means more to me than I thought it would," he murmured as he cradled her cheek. "Again, thank you."

She rolled her eyes in jest. "Well, if you insist on being sentimental, then, you're welcome."

He chuckled before dropping his hand and leading her towards the entrance. The feel of his warm palm against hers sent flutters through her belly, and she squeezed his hand in reflex. He glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow, and she shook her head to tell him it was nothing. Really, it  _should've_ been nothing. They were well past the point of furtive glances and secret blushes, and yet, here she was, feeling nervous at just his touch.

They made their way back into Jorrvaskr which was already alight with merriment and dancing. The bard from the inn had been called over to play for them, and he strummed his lute in a jovial tune as Ria and Athis spun around the room. Tilma had lit candles all around the hall, and on the massive table in the center of the room, various plates of food had been put out. Most of the Companions were sitting and enjoying the feast, while the slightly younger, more spry members were getting up to join Ria and Athis.

Lisara laughed at their antics, and Vilkas chuckled as well, though it was much quieter than her laugh had been. He looked down at her and asked, "Did you want to join them?"

She looked up into his eyes, trying to gauge what he wanted to do before responding. He'd always been good at masking his emotions, and finally, rather than trying to guess, she decided to just ask him. "What do  _you_  want to do, Vilkas? I'll be wherever you need me."

He stared into her eyes intently, before tilting his head ever so slightly towards the stairs leading down to the living quarters. "I think I just want to be with you."

"Then let's get out of here," she replied with a little smile.

Together, they headed downstairs and towards Vilkas' room. Without a word, he pushed open the door and moved aside for her to enter first. Once he stepped in too, he shut the door behind him and headed over to his desk. After lighting the single candle on the surface, he walked back over to Lisara.

She took a step back, unsure of where he was going with things. Considering the day's events, she doubted that  _that_  was what he wanted, yet there was an undeniable heat in his eyes that she hadn't expected.

When he stood just before her, he reached up and cupped her face in his hands with an intense expression. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. It was nothing like their prior kisses. This one was almost soft, languid in a way he rarely moved. With something akin to reverence, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and when it stroked against the tip of hers, she shivered and reached up to grasp his arms.

He pulled away before the kiss became too heated, and when he nuzzled her nose with the tip of his, she giggled—a rather uncharacteristic sound from her. The surprisingly romantic action had caught her off guard. With gentle motions, he unbuckled her weapons belt and set it on the floor. Then, he unfastened the armor on her torso, but again, his movements were strangely devoid of any sort of erotic motives. After lifting it over her head, he pulled down on her leggings and she shimmied out of them, bracing herself on his shoulder for balance.

Kodlak's journal fell to the floor with a thud, and Vilkas glanced down at it in confusion. Hastily, she picked it up and cradled it in her arms. "A book I found earlier that I wanted to read."

He quirked an eyebrow at her before gently taking it from her arms. He moved away with her armor—and now the book—in his arms, laying them on the back of the chair in front of his desk. With equally as methodic motions, he stripped out of his own armor, leaving him in only his loincloth. As he moved past her, he grabbed her hand and tugged her along with him to the bed.

Speaking up and asking him what he was doing seemed strangely out of place, so Lisara simply followed his lead. As silently as he'd done thus far, he pulled the pelt down and gestured for her to get in. Acquiescing, she climbed beneath the cover and waited for him to join her.

As she'd assumed, he climbed in after her and they laid down facing the wall. Vilkas draped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, and she settled back against his chest. They laid there in relative silence, and Lisara listened to the sound of his deep, even breaths. At first, she thought he'd fallen asleep until she felt the bed shake ever so slightly.

Confused, she tried to turn around, but Vilkas tightened his grip on her waist and kept her facing away from him. "Vilkas, what—"

"It's nothing, lass." He sounded strange; his voice was warped and uneven.

Now more concerned than she'd been before, she pushed his arm off and turned over, ready to ask what was the matter again. When she saw that he had his face pressed into the pillow, tears running down his cheeks and dampening the pillow's cover, the words died in her throat.

"Oh, Vilkas," she murmured, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face.

"It's ridiculous, and I know that, but I didn't want you to see me like this."

"Like what? Like a son grieving for the only father he'd really ever known? Or a human being having emotions, like we're meant to?" she whispered in return, still stroking the fine, soft strands of his hair.

He shook his head and when he opened his eyes to stare into her own, his tears made them glassy. They didn't say anything further, and Lisara leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Let it out, Vilkas," she encouraged, moving her hand over to cup his cheek like he'd done to her.

She wasn't sure how long they laid there. Occasionally, he'd stop crying, only to start again a few minutes later. From the way Farkas had explained their childhood the day before, she was sure that Vilkas had never cried before today—or at least, not since he'd been young. And not this much.

When his breaths evened out once more, she lifted her hand away, thinking he was asleep. Without warning, he pulled her flush against his body, tucking his face into the crook of her neck.

"Thank you, love," he murmured into her ear.

At his words, the brief memory that she'd heard him say similar words flashed through her mind. Like a sudden epiphany, she realized that he'd called her that weeks ago, when they'd been prisoners of the Silver Hand and she'd collapsed from the severity of her wounds.

It left her speechless. She hadn't heard words of such affection since she was younger, before Elias left. A small part of her doubted he meant it that way, and perhaps it was simply an endearment, but the other part of her noted that Vilkas wasn't one to say such a thing unless he meant it. She felt juvenile for asking him to clarify, like any other female who needed proof of said love, but if she didn't ask, she knew her mind would never stop analyzing what exactly he might've meant.

"Love?" she echoed, staring deep into his eyes.

"I would've thought that would be obvious by now, lass," he replied with a quirk of his lips.

Lisara opened her mouth to speak again, but realized that she had no idea what to say back. Before this moment, she knew that she cared for Vilkas. That much was blatantly obvious. But  _love_? Did she even know how to love? Did she know how to cherish him in the way that he deserved, in a way that he too hadn't experienced since he was a child? Did she even  _deserve_  his love?

As she was lost in thought, Vilkas reached up and traced her lower lip. "I can see the wheels turning in your head, Lisara. Stop. You're thinking about it far too much. I didn't say it to make you feel obligated to reciprocate, but . . . it would be wrong for me to hold it in."

"Vilkas, I—"

He pressed his finger to her lips more insistently, before gently turning her back over to face the wall. Again, he pulled her against his body and draped his arm over her side. "Just know that I do love you. And . . . thank you for staying with me. I needed you here more than I can express."

"Of course I'd be here," she whispered, still deep in thought despite his advice.

"But you don't have to be, and that's what I'm thanking you for."

He must've felt her shoulders rise with the breath she took, ready to say something else, because he tightened his grip on her once more. "For now, sleep. We'll talk about it when you're ready to."

Her mouth closed again, and she nestled her cheek into her pillow. They been on the move since they first returned to Whiterun, and as a result, had gotten little sleep over the past day. Because of that, and considering what he'd just told her, she thought she'd be unable to fall asleep with her mind still racing.

Despite her initial assumption, within minutes, her eyes had slid shut and she was lost to oblivion, safe and comfortable within Vilkas' arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the fluff. After so much built-up tension, it seems like there's an overabundance of fluff now, doesn't it? With this chapter, we're almost at the end of the Companions quest line and it'll be back to the main attraction! With a side tangent for the Dark Brotherhood, too, of course ;)
> 
> See you next time!


	17. The Truth

With the coming of the dawn, the remaining members of the Circle rode out of the city towards the north. To reach Ysgramor's Tomb, they would have to pass through The Pale, an experience Lisara could have gone her entire life without. According to Aela, northern Skyrim's weather was exactly what Lisara had pictured all of Skyrim to look like before she'd moved here from High Rock: frigid, dreary, and miserable—especially for those like herself who couldn't handle the severe weather as well as a hearty Nord could.

Even more unfortunate for them was the fact that an expansive, wide mountain range sat perfectly between Dawnstar and Windhelm, hindering what could've been their otherwise straight shot to Winterhold. Either city was extremely out of their way, but they had no choice, lest they wanted to force their horses to clamber about the crags of the mountainside like wild goats.

If Lisara had her way, they wouldn't stop at all until reaching Winterhold; riding straight for five or six hours was a better alternative than camping out in the open and putting themselves at risk. Of course, no one else in the group besides she and Vilkas knew about the looming threat of the Dark Brotherhood.

The two of them hadn't discussed it much beyond their initial talk, shortly after Astrid had visited them, and she wasn't sure whether he'd told his fellow Companions about the situation. She didn't want to just bring it up out of the blue. However, with the entire Circle now traveling together, exposed in the wilderness, she wondered if perhaps it  _was_  a good idea to tell Farkas and Aela. In addition to  _their_  safety being at risk, it might raise her and Vilkas' chances of survival if they were all on the lookout for stealthy, leather-clad assassins who may be sneaking up on them in the cover of darkness.

Even a trained assassin might hesitate at the sight of four, well-seasoned warriors on edge.

About two and a half hours after leaving Whiterun's gates, Vilkas called for the group to stop from the front of the line. Their horses slowed to a light trot, before coming to a complete halt on the snow-ridden path. Up ahead, the tall peaks of the mountains soared above them, disappearing into the thick, wispy clouds. The path they were on split just behind Vilkas; they had to choose whether to go east to Windhelm, or west to Dawnstar.

From behind Lisara, Aela called out, "Why are we stopping?"

"Because we haven't discussed which way we're going," Vilkas explained, turning his horse around so that he could face the group. "Dawnstar or Windhelm?"

Aela's horse, looking just as impatient as the huntress herself was likely feeling, shifted in place on the path. With a frown, Aela stated, "Whichever is faster."

Beside Lisara, Farkas shrugged. "People seem to like traveling to Dawnstar. It's a straight shot from there to Winterhold. If we went to Windhelm, we'd have to ride up and around. Then again, the ride from here to Dawnstar is a little bit longer than to Windhelm."

Sensing an opportunity, Lisara suggested, "I vote for Windhelm, especially if it's closer. The less time I have to be in a saddle, the better."

Vilkas snorted at that, likely because she'd never been one to complain about long traveling times before. In fact, it was often the opposite.

Aela retorted, "Yes, but Windhelm is the capital—the Jarl is situated there. It could be a pain to travel in and out of the city."

"If you're not a Nord," Filkas said in response. "It's really only complicated if you're a mer."

"Which none of us are," Lisara added. "I still vote Windhelm. Plus, it's probably warmer."

Aela scoffed at that, sounding irritated that that was even a reason for Lisara. Everyone else in the group, everyone who was a Nord and not a Breton, likely didn't even notice the cold. Though she hated how weak she sounded in comparison to them, to Aela, she would do whatever it took to convince the group to stay in Windhelm for the night instead of Dawnstar.

Staying in Dawnstar, so close to a Dark Brotherhood sanctuary, would make their enemy's job far too easy. Unfortunately, Vilkas wasn't privy to that information, and she had to somehow tell him without actually telling him, that it wasn't an option.

When Aela looked like she was about to protest and argue her point again, Lisara shot Vilkas a heated glare. He glanced over and met her gaze, and without reacting to her thinly veiled hint, interrupted Aela before she could speak.

"I think Windhelm sounds like a good plan."

Aela's mouth closed with a snap. A few seconds passed before she looked at Farkas. "Let me guess, you think so, too?"

Again, Farkas shrugged. "I'm fine with either one. If Lisara would be more comfortable in Windhelm, I don't see why it really matters which one we go to."

That prompted Aela to glare at Lisara, who shifted her gaze away.  _So much for being on good terms with her._

A few seconds later, Aela looked back at Vilkas with a strained sigh. "I don't have much choice, do I? I suppose Windhelm is fine. So long as we don't waste time there."

_What exactly is her definition of 'wasting time'?_  The entire purpose of passing through Windhelm was  _to_  waste time and force the group to stay at the inn overnight, therefore preventing them from being exposed and in the open. Considering Aela's gruff response to the small hiccup in their journey, Lisara decided that perhaps now was not the best time to bring that up.

When no one said anything in opposition, Vilkas nodded and pulled on his reins to direct his horse to the east. "Then it's settled."

They rode a little bit farther up the path before Vilkas turned around and gestured for Lisara to join him up ahead. With a sidelong glance at Farkas, she flicked Shadowmere's reins and spurred him forward. When she was right beside Vilkas, she looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

In a quiet voice, he asked, "Would you mind telling me why exactly it was you wanted us to go to Windhelm and not Dawnstar?"

Lisara lowered her gaze briefly before meeting his eyes again. "Not now. I'll tell you when we get there."

"I hope it was worth raising Aela's ire, lass. She's not fun to be around when she isn't happy."

Vilkas sounded both miffed and slightly afraid. Lisara smothered a smile, and nodded before falling back to ride beside Farkas again.

The remainder of the ride to Windhelm went smoothly; it was obvious that the members of the Circle were used to traveling with one another. Every turn of Vilkas' mount, no matter how slight, was immediately mirrored by Farkas and Lisara, and then Aela in the rear. An hour later, the colossal stone ramparts of Windhelm's outer gate emerged above the horizon. Their horses' hooves clattered against the pavers beneath them as they raced across the bridge towards the front gate.

Once all of their horses were stabled and payment had been settled, the four of them made their way inside the city. As soon as the massive gate closed behind them, Aela informed the rest of the group, with a grunt, that she was going to check out the marketplace. Conveniently, Farkas said he'd go with her, expressing interest in having a dent in his armor repaired, leaving Vilkas and Lisara alone—with a rather suspicious wink in his twin's direction.

Vilkas shook his head at his brother as he watched him walk away, before turning to Lisara. "Now would be a good time to tell me what's going on in that head of yours, lass."

She nodded, jerking her head in the direction of the inn just in front of them. Vilkas returned the gesture, and the two of them trekked up the short stone staircase that led to the inn's entrance. Unlike every other inn they'd been to in Skyrim, there was no fire pit to greet them upon their entrance, though it was still significantly warmer than outside. Just to their left was the bar, and behind it, the inn's proprietor.

The woman, a pale, blonde Nord, smiled upon seeing them. "Welcome to Candlehearth Hall! New in town?"

Vilkas shook his head. "We're just passing through."

"Need a room?"

"No, just a place to sit for a little while."

She pointed at the staircase just behind them. "Fire's up there. I'll bring you two mugs of mead in a bit."

"Thank you," Lisara said before following Vilkas up the stairs in question.

When they were almost to the landing, a familiar wave of heat washed over them and Lisara sighed in content.  _Ah, there it is. Like coming home every time_ , she thought fondly, though she knew better than most that home wasn't necessarily the same place, or even  _a_  place. She glanced up at the back of Vilkas' head, lost in thought about what exactly it was that defined home in the first place.

As she was staring at the way the chestnut strands of his hair swayed when he walked, he stepped up onto the second floor. She almost bumped into him when he unexpectedly paused for a second, scanning the room for a table that was more secluded. Off in the far corner, there was one that was tucked into a small alcove. Much to her dismay, he bypassed the one other open table near the fire and beelined directly for the one in the corner.

With a small sigh, she followed after him. The inn was packed—the only two open tables were the one they'd just taken, and the other one by the fireplace—and she knew privacy was more important to Vilkas than comfort. Still, she'd hoped; it felt like her bones had been turned to ice.

Before sitting down, Vilkas paused by the wall and pulled Wuuthrad off his back. After leaning it reverently in the corner so that it wouldn't fall over, he sank down onto the chair. Once they were seated, Vilkas didn't waste a second. "So . . . Windhelm and not Dawnstar. Why?"

The sigh that left Lisara this time was deeper, hesitant. She interlaced her fingers in her lap as she crossed one leg over the other. After holding Vilkas' icy gaze for a few seconds, she said, "Because of the Dark Brotherhood."

"I guessed as much. But why  _exactly_?"

"There's a Sanctuary in Dawnstar. It's rumored to be dormant, but I've never been there myself to verify if that's the truth or not. I didn't think it was worth the risk."

"No, likely not." His eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. "You've never mentioned this sanctuary before."

Lisara shrugged. "There's never been a need to. Most of the Brotherhood's dealings happen at the sanctuary to the south. The majority of us have never seen the inside of the Dawnstar location."

"Can you get in?"

"I don't know. I've never tried. I'm not even sure where in the city it is. Considering I went back on my contract, I doubt I'd be let in. Sithis has ways of knowing these things," she said in a dry voice.

Vilkas blinked at her. "Are you being serious?"

"Yes, Vilkas, I am being serious. Horrendously serious. So serious, that—"

Vilkas interrupted her by holding up his hands with a grimace. "All right, all right, lass. I get it."

Lisara shook her head at him with an irritated scrunch to her nose. "I know that Aela and Farkas can handle themselves, but I didn't want to put  _us_ at even more risk. Things are already bad as it is."

"I'm glad we came here, then." He shifted in his seat, and his gaze drifted over her shoulder towards the stairs. When Lisara went to continue their conversation, he shook his head imperceptibly, stopping her before she could speak.

A glance over her shoulder revealed the Nord woman from downstairs was approaching them, tray in hand. She faced Vilkas again and tried to look casual, like they were relaxing and thawing their bones, not plotting their next move.

The woman stepped up to their table with a wide grin. "Here you are! Two mugs of mead, as promised. You can pay on your way out, in case you end up wanting more," she said with a wink. Vilkas tilted his head in acknowledgment, and the woman headed back over to the stairs.

When she disappeared beneath the banister and the room was once again filled with chatter from the inn's other patrons, Vilkas looked back at Lisara. "What were you going to say?"

"I was going to suggest that we stay in Windhelm overnight, and continue on to Winterhold tomorrow. I know it isn't ideal, but I'd rather not have us out in the open."

Vilkas frowned. "Convincing Aela of that is not going to be easy."

"Is anything ever easy when it comes to her?" Lisara asked with a slight upturn of her lips.

At that, Vilkas chuckled. "She's that easy to read, hm?"

Lisara's tiny smile widened into a full-on grin. "I haven't known her long, or even really spoken to her much, but I can tell that she's stubborn. Do you think you'll be able to talk her into going along with our plan?"

Vilkas looked away from her. "Aye. I've known Aela a long time; I know what to say to her. I'll handle it."

It was stupid, and she knew it, but a slight pulse of jealousy coursed through her. Aela and Vilkas had likely been running side-by-side for years, and knew each other's thoughts without having to verbalize them. It was a level of comfort, of trust, that she wondered if they'd ever reach themselves. Part of her wanted to ask if he and Aela had ever been . . . involved, but she couldn't bring herself to voice her concerns. It seemed petty and juvenile to be so hung up about something that was likely in the past, something that Vilkas would say was insignificant now.

Still . . . she wondered. Perhaps she could ask Farkas.

Lisara cleared her throat, and that prompted Vilkas to meet her gaze once more. "Then that's that. We'll stay in town for the night and set out for Winterhold in the morning." Vilkas nodded in agreement and rose to his feet. After following suit, she added, "Make sure that you keep your door locked. A lock won't do much to stop a determined assassin, but it will at least buy you enough time to get ready."

He furrowed his brows, seemingly confused, before looking down at her. "Will we be staying in separate rooms?"

Her cheeks warmed and she dropped her gaze to the floor. "I . . . I wasn't really sure what you wanted to do—what with Farkas and Aela being with us . . ." She trailed off, shuffling in place.

The worn leather of his gloves rubbed against her chin as he reached out and tilted her face up towards his. His gaze was heated and fiery, despite being as pale as freshly fallen snow. In a low, quiet voice, he said, "Well, Farkas already knows, and I could give a goat's ass what Aela thinks."

Lisara snorted, and the corner of Vilkas' lips twitched at her reaction. After a beat had passed, and the mood had sobered somewhat, his hand slid over to cup her cheek. "I'd like for us to sleep together, lass."

She couldn't help but tease him, and raised her eyebrow. As she'd predicted, he rolled his eyes and said, "Not—"

Her laugh interrupted him and he lowered his brows at her in admonition. After another chuckle escaped her, she said, "I'm sorry, Vilkas. I knew what you meant, but I couldn't help it."

Though he shook his head at her, she could tell he wasn't really upset. He let his arm fall back to his side. "Besides, I don't know what it is, but . . . when we share a bed, I—the beast blood is less restless."

Lisara nodded in understanding, and reached out to gently touch his upper arm. "I've noticed. Anything you need, I am more than willing to help with. You know that."

Vilkas dropped his gaze briefly, before locking eyes with her again and leaning down towards her face. She thought he was going to kiss her, but at the last second, he moved to the side. His lips grazed the outer shell of her ear, and the intimate, ghostly touch caused a shiver to run down her spine.

Just loud enough for only her to hear, he whispered, "Though . . . I'm not opposed to sharing a bed with you  _that_  way, again."

This time, her blush completely overtook her face. She pulled back from him slightly and covered as much of her face with her hand as she could, staring up into his eyes in surprise. Though they'd only been intimate once, it was inevitable that things between them would change afterwards. She never would've thought that Vilkas would— _could_ —be suggestive, and it had caught her off guard.

Once she'd recovered, she lowered her hand and let a sly grin spread across her face. "Is that so, Sir Dragonborn?"

At that, Vilkas threw his head back and let out a throaty laugh. It was the first time Lisara had ever seen him laugh so—without inhibitions, without caring who would hear or see him let go for once. It brought a genuine, warm smile to her own face as she watched him clutch his midsection, breathless with mirth. After a few seconds, he straightened and pressed the back of his hand to his eyes.

"Oh, lass. You are truly something else. 'Sir Dragonborn'," he muttered with another chuckle. "Perhaps I should start asking people to refer to me as such."

"Please do. It would be hilarious," she commented, eyes twinkling.

He shook his head, a tiny smile still lifting the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome, and she reached up to brace herself on his upper arm as he leaned her back a bit.

Lisara gasped as the kiss intensified, and Vilkas took the opportunity to sweep his tongue along hers. Her lower abdomen tightened in response, and her answering moan was swallowed up in its entirety by him. Before they had a chance to take things further, someone cleared their throat behind Vilkas.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and looked over his shoulder, groaning when he realized it had been his twin. "Farkas, yet again. Are you going to make it a goal to interrupt us every time?"

Farkas chuckled. "As I recall, I waited until you were done last time. Figured I'd stop you before you got too into it this time around."

"And why exactly did you think that was a good idea?" Lisara teased, leaning around Vilkas to wink at Farkas.

Nonchalantly, the burlier brother shrugged his massive shoulders. "Because Aela was only a few steps behind me, and I'm sure she wouldn't be too happy to find out that we stopped in town just so you two could lock lips."

"That's not why we stopped," Vilkas said defensively, his brows drawing low over his eyes.

"Then why  _did_  we stop?"

Vilkas and Lisara shared a loaded glance, before Vilkas turned back to his twin. "I don't know if we—"

Farkas' jovial expression began to deepen into a frown, and Lisara touched Vilkas' hand to gain his attention. When he looked down at her, she said, "Perhaps we  _should_  tell them."

He studied her face for a moment before nodding ever-so-slightly, and looking back over at Farkas. "You'll want to come sit down, brother."

Again, Farkas shrugged, but this time it was in blasé agreement. Once the twins were seated, Lisara wandered over to the table beside them—it was now empty—to drag over another chair. As soon as she'd set it beside Farkas, Aela emerged from the floor below. The three of them watched her approach, and as she made her way around the fireplace, Lisara looked back at Vilkas. They held each other's gaze for a moment before Lisara nodded, and Vilkas returned the gesture.

They would tell Aela, too.

Farkas waved in greeting once Aela stood just beside him, and she sank down onto the only available chair with a curt nod. "Are we ready to leave yet?" she demanded.

Lisara shot another furtive glance in Vilkas' direction, which prompted him to say, "Not quite. We've something to tell the two of you."

"Well, spit it out, then. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we get to Ysgramor's Tomb," Aela retorted.

Vilkas frowned at her tone, though he didn't say anything. They all knew that Aela had been through more than most recently; first, the Silver Hand had taken Skjor from her, and now, Kodlak. While that was true, it was obvious to all that her sass caused Vilkas' ire to rise to the surface.

"Before we start, I want to preface by saying that no matter what I tell you next, I don't want it to color your opinion or impression of Lisara," Vilkas instructed in a gruff voice.

Farkas' thick brows drew together in confusion. Aela went to open her mouth, but Vilkas interrupted her with a sharp wave of his hand. "Let me speak; you can ask questions at the end."

Aela's countenance darkened, but she closed her mouth with a snap. After she offered another stiff nod in his direction, Vilkas straightened in his chair, resting his hands on his thighs. "We need to stay in Windhelm for the night. We'll continue on to Winterhold in the morning."

"What for? Why wait?" Aela inquired. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Lisara crossed her arms as she leaned against the side of Vilkas' chair. "Because someone is after us—after Vilkas. It's safer if we stay somewhere with shelter and a lockable door."

"You don't think we can handle one measly person?" Aela asked, leaning back in her own chair so that she could tilt her chin up at Lisara.

Beside her, Farkas piped up. "Well, maybe they're not 'measly', Aela. I mean, when is Vilkas ever this cautious?" After looking over at his brother, he asked, "Who is it, exactly?"

For a moment, Vilkas hesitated. With a slight shake of his head, as if he were convincing himself that this was a good idea, he said, "The Dark Brotherhood."

"What?" Aela exclaimed, launching forward in her chair. "What in Talos' name did you do to gain  _their_  attention?"

"I wish that I could tell you," Vilkas said from between clenched teeth, though his frustration was likely aimed at the Brotherhood and not at Aela. "Apparently, someone put a contract out for me."

"How did you find out about this? I'm sure the Brotherhood doesn't just make their contracts public knowledge," Farkas commented.

Again, Vilkas hesitated. This time, he glanced up at Lisara before meeting his twin's gaze once more. He opened his mouth once, then closed it, then opened it again. "It . . . Lisara was the one who told me."

"And how exactly did Lisara find out?" Aela asked. Her tone was dry, almost mocking, and Lisara glared down at her. Granted, the huntress' suspicion and doubt was justified, and Lisara wasn't prone to glaring in general, but for some reason, Aela's words set her nerves on edge.

Vilkas looked up at Lisara with a neutral expression, and she nodded in response to his silent question. She would take over the explanation from here, no matter how it might change Farkas and Aela's opinions of her. Even though Vilkas had warned them not to jump to conclusions or let their opinions be affected, she knew that was impossible. They were bound to see her in a different light.

In a quiet voice, she said, "Because I was the one sent to kill him."

Immediately, Aela and Farkas reacted as she'd expected them to. Aela dove for Lisara, sending her chair backward. It clattered to the floor loudly, though thankfully, the inn was loud enough that most people didn't notice. Farkas shot to his feet with an uncharacteristic sneer, his hand flying to the hilt of his broadsword faster than she'd thought he could move.

Apparently, Vilkas had been expecting such a reaction. The second Aela and Farkas so much as twitched towards Lisara, he leapt out of his chair and slid in front of her. She could take care of herself, and he knew that, but she knew it was more a show of his allegiance than a true threat; they had to understand that he'd chosen to stick with her, despite knowing what he did about her original intent.

"What are you  _doing_ , Vilkas? Move!" Aela commanded, her fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of her own sword.

Farkas didn't add anything, simply let out a quiet growl as he stared Lisara down. She shifted in place uncomfortably, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of his anger. Vilkas straightened, standing ramrod straight in front of her as he glared at Aela.

"I won't. I told you to let me finish speaking, and not to allow your judgment to be clouded, Aela."

"Clouded? It seems as if it's your own judgment that's clouded, Vilkas. This woman, this  _spy_ , tried to kill you, and here you stand, defending her?" Aela retorted in disbelief.

"She was never a spy," he replied, sounding confident. "She may have been sent to kill me, yes, but—" He broke off and looked back at Lisara, who gazed up at him with wide eyes. When he faced Aela again, he stated, "Things are different now than they were when she first came to Jorrvaskr."

"How, brother? How could things have changed so much in only a few months?" Farkas asked. His hand was no longer gripping the hilt of his sword, but Lisara knew it would only take him a few seconds to unsheath it, if the situation called for it.

"Things  _between_ us changed. Lisara is not who you assume she is, and it took me some time to realize that as well, but it's true. Then there's this whole business with me being the Dragonborn, and . . . things got complicated. My point is that I trust her. I wouldn't do that if I didn't have reason to, if she hadn't proved that I even could. If I trust her, you should, too."

"What did she do that made you trust her?" Aela questioned, finally letting go of her sword.

"She saved my life—on more than one occasion. I slept with one eye open for a long time—" Vilkas began to say, but Lisara interrupted him with a snort.

"You mean to say that you didn't sleep  _at all_."

"Either way," he continued without looking back at Lisara. His next words were laced with irritation. "I was going to say that, eventually, I came to trust her with my life."

Neither of them said anything else, just stared at Vilkas and Lisara, standing together as a united front against their animosity. The tension between them seemed to build and build until Lisara felt like she could slice through the air with her dagger. Finally, when she thought she'd rip her hair out in frustration and anxiety, Farkas let out a long, drained sigh.

"If you trust her, brother, then I will as well," he stated, glancing behind Vilkas at Lisara.

"Horseshit!" Aela shouted. "How am I supposed to trust a woman we took into our home, treated as a shield-sister,  _cared_ for her wounds when she was  _dying_ , when she's probably been biding her time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to get the job done?"

Incensed, Lisara pushed Vilkas out of the way so she could speak to Aela directly. "Biding my time?" she spat. "If I had wanted to kill Vilkas, I would've—and could've easily—done so by now. It was  _because_ I no longer wished to that he is still here. How could you even think that?"

"How could I  _not_?" Aela retorted, her hand going to her sword once more. With visible difficulty, she restrained herself from drawing her blade right then and there. A moment later, she let out a sigh between her teeth—a hiss, almost—and looked at Vilkas. "I'm sorry, Vilkas. I know you want us to trust her as you do, but I . . . I cannot. I cannot trust a woman who so obviously, and easily, broke not only our trust, but the trust of the Companions. I won't do it."

Vilkas' shoulders visibly drooped, and he shook his head. "Though I don't agree with your opinion, I understand why you made your choice, Aela."

"I am still going to Ysgramor's Tomb, to avenge Kodlak, but I will meet you there. I won't travel in her company any longer."

Farkas reached out to Aela with a frown. "But, Aela—"

" _No._  I won't do it, Farkas. I'm heading out now. I'll meet you there tomorrow, bright and early. Be—" She broke off, and after a brief glance at Lisara, looked intently into Vilkas' eyes. "Be safe, shield-brother."

Vilkas nodded. "May Talos guide your blade, shield-sister."

She returned the gesture before about-facing and heading for the stairs. They watched her go with a mixture of emotions; Lisara was upset for Vilkas, but not particularly herself. Aela had aided Lisara when it had been convenient for the huntress, but not out of the goodness of her heart. It was difficult to miss someone with such a brusque attitude. Vilkas and Farkas, on the other hand, had known Aela for years, fought by her side for years. It had to have been difficult to watch your shield-sister walk away from you because of divided loyalties.

After a few seconds, Vilkas faced Lisara again with a saddened expression. Farkas let out a huff and announced, "I'm going to go talk to her."

With a frown, Vilkas looked over at his brother. "She's made her choice, Farkas. Don't try and talk her out of it. It will only do more harm than good."

"We can't just  _not_  try!" Farkas insisted, pivoting on his heel and following after Aela.

Vilkas let out an exasperated sigh, and gestured for Lisara to follow him. "Come on, lass. We'd best stop him before he makes things worse. When Aela is in a mood like this, it's best to just let her be."

"I'm surprised he doesn't know that by now."

He shrugged, tromping down the stairs as quickly as he could in his heavy armor. When they stepped out of the inn, a brisk, frigid blast of air greeted them. Lisara reached up to shield her face from the harsh wind, but Vilkas stepped back and closer to her, to help block the cold. They scanned the plaza for any signs of Farkas and Aela, but oddly enough, they were nowhere to be seen; they'd only been a few steps behind Farkas. How could he have disappeared so quickly?

With his countenance grim, Vilkas traipsed down the stone steps and walked out into the plaza, looking from side to side. Off on the far end of the area, in an archway that led to the western end of the city, stood a lone guard. Lisara nudged Vilkas' arm, and when he looked down at her, she jerked her head towards the guard. He nodded in agreement, and the pair made their way over to join him.

The guard glanced up at the sound of their footsteps. "No lollygagging."

Vilkas scoffed. "We're not  _lollygagging;_  we've a question to ask you."

"Oh, then all right. Make it quick. Things in this quarter are a bit . . . unsettled as of late."

"Unsettled?" Lisara questioned, but Vilkas interrupted the guard with a question of his own before the man had a chance to answer.

"Did you see a red-headed huntress and a large man who looks exactly like me pass through the plaza?"

The guard shrugged. "Sure, a few minutes ago. They went out the front gates."

"Of course they did," Vilkas muttered. He placed his hand on Lisara's shoulder and they moved to walk away, but the guard cleared his throat, prompting them to look back at them.

"If you're wanting to follow them, I'm afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news. The Jarl has placed the city under lockdown; the guards outside will likely not let your friends back into town, if they've already left."

"Lockdown? Because of the state of 'unsettlement' you mentioned just now?" Lisara asked.

With a nod, the guard explained, "There's been—I don't want to leave you feeling scared or worried, but . . . there's been a series of murders in town."

"Murders?" Vilkas echoed, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Aye. Things had been quiet for the past few days, but just an hour or so ago . . . I wouldn't advise going past this way, through the cemetery, if blood unsettles you."

In a dry voice, Vilkas replied, "I think we'll be fine. Do you have any suspects?"

"No. That's why the city is under lockdown. The Jarl doesn't want anyone going in or out of the city until the murders are solved. With the gates shut, it's likely the culprit is still here."

Lisara and Vilkas shared a look, heavy with implication. With a slight shake of her head, Lisara thought,  _Is it the Brotherhood? But why kill innocents in lieu of their target? Are they trying to scare us out into the open?_

"Mind if we go to the scene of the murder?" Vilkas asked, his voice monotone.

The guard lowered his brows in suspicion. "Whatever for?"

"Well, as Companions, we do our fair share of helping out when we can."

This time, the guard's brows shot up in surprise. "Companions? I'll be! Yes, we could use the help! The cemetery is just down this way; follow the path until you're forced to turn, and it's right through the next stone archway."

Vilkas and Lisara nodded in thanks, following the guard's directions until they had passed out of his sight. As soon as they'd rounded the corner, Vilkas pulled Lisara aside into a small stone alcove. She looked up at him, confused, and he said, "If Farkas and Aela are stuck outside of the city, isn't this the perfect opportunity for the Brotherhood to strike? We're isolated, the city is under lockdown. It seems like too much of a coincidence."

"I agree," Lisara whispered. "I was just thinking the same thing. I don't know if these murders are the Brotherhood's doing, but . . . it  _does_  seem like too much of a coincidence."

They stared at each other for a moment, Vilkas with his chest heaving, and Lisara with tense shoulders, before he finally leaned back. "Let's go look at the scene. Maybe you'll notice something that will confirm or deny our suspicions. Stay on guard. We can't leave each other's backs open."

Lisara nodded, and when Vilkas stepped away from her, he angled his body so that his back was diagonal to her front. She tilted her body as well, and together, they moved towards the cemetery. Snow began to fall in tiny flurries as they made their way down the long, stone staircase. Lisara thought it was eerily accurate for their situation.

When they stepped off the stairs, tall gravemarkers greeted them. Some had broken off at the tops, and chunks of stone littered the ground throughout the makeshift cemetery. Over on their left, a handful of guards and a few of the townsfolk stood around one grave in particular. The atmosphere was loaded, thick with tension, and the townsfolk kept whispering amongst themselves as their eyes were trained on the grave.

Lisara and Vilkas shared another look, before moving towards the spectacle. With murmured apologies, Vilkas gently moved aside a few of the onlookers so that they could see the scene for themselves. Because she was standing behind him, she saw him stiffen in reaction before she saw the scene itself. A moment passed before he shifted in place, moving to the side, and that was when she saw the large splattering of blood across the grave, painting the stone in a garish crimson smear.

Lisara grimaced, though it was more out of disconcertment than it was fear or revulsion. Vilkas looked back at her, his brows drawn tight over his eyes. The grim scene did little to assuage their concerns.

In a quiet voice, so that only he could hear, she murmured, "Well, isn't this just  _wonderful_."

 


	18. The Butcher

Dealing with a murder was the last thing they had time for, but it seemed as if fate had something else in mind for them . . . as always. Vilkas grunted in response to Lisara's wry quip, before nodding in acknowledgement to the guard that was standing nearby, acting as a barrier between the crime scene and the bystanders. The guard returned the gesture, but he didn't move forward.

When the two of them stepped closer, the guard held up his hand. "Hold it there. Keep your distance."

"Could you use some help here?" Vilkas questioned, opening his arms to the side so he seemed like less of a threat. A man of Vilkas' stature, though he wasn't as large as Farkas, was still rather intimidating.

At first, the guard didn't seem particularly willing to reveal any information to them, especially with the few townsfolk scattered around them. But then, behind the narrow slits in his helmet, Lisara saw his eyes narrow. With his arm at his side, the guard surreptitiously gestured for them to step closer.

Once they were close enough so that the crowd couldn't overhear, he spoke. "Another girl killed," he explained in a grim tone. With his torch, he gestured towards the girl and continued, "This is Susanna, from Candlehearth Hall. She . . . served me a drink just a few nights ago, but I can't say I _knew_ her."

He paused and shook his head in disbelief, glancing back over his shoulder at the body. As he was looking away from them, Lisara ran through his words in her head one more time before she realized what he'd said.

"Wait, you said 'another'? The first guard we spoke to mentioned that a _string_ of murders had happened recently. How many times has this happened before?" she asked, her brows furrowed in concern.

The guard nodded. "Susanna is the third. It's always the same: a young girl, killed at night, her body torn up."

This time, Lisara's grimace _was_ due to disgust. Killing may have been her life profession, but she did it because she'd had no other avenue. Sure, now her intentions were a little different; it was entirely possible that she enjoyed the thrill of the chase and the challenge of completing a contract perhaps a bit more than was healthy, but . . . not like _this_. There were people in the world who killed for the sick, perverse, twisted pleasure of it—for the enjoyment of watching their victims suffer—and that was what left her feeling unsettled.

She was _not_ like that.

While she was lost in her thoughts, Vilkas asked, "Is there anyone investigating the murders?"

With a dry scoff, the guard said, "Given the current situation with the war, no one has the time to investigate something like this. It isn't pleasant but . . . it's the truth."

Vilkas too scoffed, but Lisara only shook her head. The guard had a point: everyone in Skyrim had something else more pressing to take care of, them included. A moment of silence passed, and then Vilkas looked down at her with a bright, intense look in his eyes.

"Oh no," Lisara replied immediately with a vigorous shake of her head. "I _know_ that look Vilkas, and the answer is no. We need to get to Ysgramor's Tomb, you said so yourself. Your brother and Aela are outside the gates, and—"

With a terse nod, he interrupted her. "And that's exactly it. We can't get out until this is solved, and the guards won't let anyone else back in. We're stuck until this gets resolved, and what better way to make sure that happens than to help?"

Lisara opened her mouth to respond, before closing it again with a snap. Unfortunately, Vilkas had a point. They were ultimately stuck until the guards could put a culprit behind bars, and the likelihood of that being a fast process was very, very low. Their best bet was to offer as much of their help as possible in order to move the investigation along faster.

She let out a deep sigh before giving him a slight nod of assent. It didn't mean she wanted to do this, to help, but if it was their only way out . . . well, she knew how that worked. At her silent acquiescence, the tiniest grin teased at the corner of Vilkas' lips.

He faced the guard once more and asked, "Is there anything we can do to help?"

It didn't seem as if the guard believed they were useful, seeing as how he let out another scoff. "If you want to help, go ask these gawkers if they saw anything useful. I'll be over here examining the body before the rats can get to it."

Vilkas seemed upset at the guard's seemingly indifferent attitude towards the victim, but he didn't say anything else, just watched the guard walk away. Once they were alone again, he faced Lisara. "Well? You want to take one or two of them and I'll take the rest?"

Lisara smirked at him. "This was your idea, hero. I'll take one, you can take two."

He chuckled at her response before walking towards the pair who were standing closer to the grave. She headed for the sandy-haired man who was standing slightly off to the side, alone. The man watched her approach, already shaking his head, though she wasn't entirely sure why.

When she was a few steps away, in a gravelly voice, he said, "Always sad when someone has to die."

From his accent, it seemed like he was an Imperial, and she tilted her head at his opening statement. _Bit of strange way to greet someone, considering where we're standing . . . most people are more upset when a serial killer strikes._

After coming to a stop in front of the man, she studied him for a second. "Did you see what happened here?"

The man shrugged, glancing over at Susanna's body. "I might have seen a man running away, but I didn't get a good look at his face. Not much I could tell you about him."

Before Lisara could ask any more questions, the man brushed past her and headed back for the stone steps on the opposite side of the cemetery. She watched him walk away, before shaking her head in annoyance.

"Well, _that_ was helpful," she muttered under her breath, before letting out a sigh and walking over towards where Vilkas was standing.

He was speaking to a woman garbed in full, long robes that covered her entire body. After the woman shook her head in denial as well, she turned back towards the corpse. Vilkas looked back at Lisara when he heard her footsteps, a disappointed expression on his face.

"Any luck?" he questioned.

"None."

He shook his head ever-so-slightly before tilting his head towards the guard. Together, they traipsed back across the way and the guard turned around, still holding his torch upright. When he saw that they were back again, his shoulders tensed. If they could see his face, Lisara suspected that the man's features would be twisted in annoyance.

"Do you two have fur coming out of your ears?" His voice was tight with irritation.

Vilkas ignored the insult. "We've spoken to the witnesses."

"Let me guess: no one saw anything useful, like usual. The bastard's escaped again . . ."

Vilkas shook his head. "That's true, but there may be more to this. If you'd let us help, we might be able to—"

The guard interrupted him and said, "Look, friend . . . if you think you can do better than the legion of guards, be my guest. Before you go parading around and asking questions, though, you'll want to go speak to Jorleif. Can't have everyone going around saying they're on 'official business'. If he's willing to let you help, then we'll talk."

Vilkas closed his mouth with a snap, visibly bristling at the guard's abrasive, closed-off attitude. Without another word, he pivoted on his heel, grabbed Lisara by the wrist, and stalked back towards the stairs. Lisara tugged her hand back with a huff, but followed Vilkas out of the secluded corridor nonetheless.

When they were back in the main square, Vilkas came to a stop in the middle of the path. "What an idiot. What an absolute—" He broke off in mid-sentence, crossing his arms in frustration. "An absolute _milkdrinker_."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Lisara couldn't help but snort. Was that really the best he could come up with? With a small smile, she echoed, "Yes, Vilkas, what a milkdrinker."

He must've been too far into his thoughts to realize she was teasing him, because instead of responding to the jest, he faced her with a grim expression. "It doesn't even seem as if he's trying to catch the killer—as if he doesn't care."

Her expression sobered. "I'm sure he _cares_ , Vilkas, but . . . after three deaths and nothing coming to the surface, he's probably beginning to lose hope. Let's do as he says and go speak to this Jorleif, and perhaps with our help, this will get sorted out."

Vilkas shook his head, and a second or two passed before he turned around and started walking again. This time, he veered to their right and led them up the small stone stairs towards the palace. A short walk later, they approached the single guard posted on duty just in front of the set of double doors that marked the palace's entrance. The guard only offered a single nod of acknowledgment, and assuming that meant they were free to go in, Vilkas and Lisara moved past him and pushed the heavy metal doors open.

_For a city that's on edge due to a serial killer on the loose, I'm surprised security is so light near the seat of their jarl,_ Lisara thought with a frown.

The doors shut behind them with a thud that echoed down the expansive hall, and Vilkas halted in place, looking left and right. This was Lisara's first time in the palace, and she peeked around Vilkas in order to take in the sights. The grandeur of the hall was appropriate, considering this was the Palace of the Kings.

Numerous robin-egg blue banners, lined with gold, decorated the ceiling of the room from edge to edge. Matching runners led the path of every visitor down the hall towards the gilded throne that was perched atop a small flight of stairs on the opposite end of the room. Every ivory horn of the seemingly infinite amount of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were lit, giving the hall a bright, warm, welcoming glow. To Lisara's surprise, the two long, wooden tables that sat just below the throne were both empty; there was no echo of conversation, no raucous singing or music from a bard. The hall was completely silent.

Finally, Vilkas grunted and let his crossed arms fall to his sides. "I'm surprised Ulfric isn't sitting on his beloved throne." Before she could reply, he jerked his chin towards the doorway on the far side of the hall and said, "Let's try over there."

Their boots padded against the rug as they trekked across the room. The thick, woven material gave way to stone when they passed under the archway, and their steps now reverberated back to them in the small tunnel. A short distance later, they emerged into what looked like a storeroom. Shelves that ran from floor to ceiling, stocked with dried meats and fruits, lined the room and a large fire burned in the hearth directly across from them, warming a pot of what was presumably broth or stew of some sort.

Just in front of the pot stood a tall man dressed in sepia-toned clothing, topped off with a fur-trim hat. He reached out and stirred the contents of the pot, until Vilkas took a step forward and his boot brushed against the stone floor. The man turned towards them, his eyebrow raised in a silent question.

"Yes? Can I help you?" he called out.

With a quick, shared glance, the two of them stepped farther into the room. Vilkas nodded in greeting and asked, "Are you Jorleif?"

"That I am." The man faced them and wiped his palms on his trousers. "Who's asking?"

"I am Vilkas, of the Companions. This is Lisara," Vilkas explained with a light hand gesture. "We've, uh, heard about these murders going on in town."

At the mention of the grim situation, Jorleif's countenance fell. "Ah, yes. These are difficult times indeed, when men stalk their brethren like beasts. My men are stretched thin at is is. Why do you ask, though?"

Lisara tilted her chin up slightly and said, "We spoke to a guard about helping with the investigation, and he told us to come and speak to you."

Jorleif's bright eyes scanned Lisara up and down, before he did the same to Vilkas. With a nod, he said, "If you were to offer your aid, I would gladly accept. The guards would be told to assist you as necessary. Whatever you need, let me know. I'm happy to help as much as I can as well."

Vilkas also nodded and the two men shook hands. Not to Lisara's surprise, Jorleif did not offer the same courtesy to her. It didn't bother her all _that_ much, since she was used to it by now, but she couldn't help but feel the slightest bit rankled. It was true that women weren't exactly seen as equals to men in Skyrim—anywhere, really—and with her tiny stature in comparison to the towering Nords, most of them completely overlooked her. The few women who were like Aela demanded respect from their brethren, but outsiders rarely got the chance to do so.

Perhaps that was part of the reason she had grown so . . . fond of Vilkas over the past few months. At first, he had done much the same as everyone else. She was tiny, easily overlooked, seemingly easily overpowered. But he'd come to learn not only her fighting style, but the ins and outs of who she was. That was more than she could say for . . . anyone, really. And she wasn't quite sure where that left them.

Despite everything going through her head at the moment, she knew they worked well as a team, and a well-functioning team was what Jorleif and his men needed right now.

Vilkas and Jorleif had been speaking while Lisara was lost in thought, and unbeknownst to her, Jorleif had ambled back to his cooking space. Vilkas had started for the hall, and Lisara hurried after him.

"So what's the plan?" she asked, once she was walking beside him.

"Did you not hear? Jorleif wants us to go back and inspect the crime scene, now that we have 'permission' to." He turned to her slightly and gave her a sly grin. "So let's go back and tell that guard, eh, lass?"

A matching grin slowly spread out across Lisara's face. "Yes, let's."

* * *

The guard recognized them the second they emerged onto the stone landing, and his shoulders instantaneously hunched. If he hadn't been wearing a helmet that obscured ninety-five percent of his face, his sneer would've been visible all the way from where they stood.

Slowly, the two of them made their way over to the guard. Instead of greeting them as he had the first time, he simply stared at them.

Vilkas—the better man as always—offered a curt nod to the guard, and said by way of a greeting, "Jorleif granted us permission to aid in the investigation."

"Well . . . all right, then." He turned away and led them a little closer to the gravestone behind him. "I noticed a trail of blood leading away from here. Helgird's taken the body to the Hall of the Dead to prepare it for burial. She's . . . a bit crazy, but if she knows anything, it's dead bodies. I'd go speak to her, if I were you two."

"Uh, thank you . . ." Lisara trailed off, sounding as unsure as she felt. Without another word to the guard, she and Vilkas headed off for the Hall of the Dead.

"Is it only me, or was his advice about Helgird a bit . . ." Vilkas, too, trailed off, and Lisara turned to him with a wry smile.

"Eerie? Creepy? Disturbing?" she offered.

"All three," he mumbled with a slow shake of his head.

She chuckled and leaned over, nudging his arm with her elbow. "Some could say the same thing about me, you know. I tend to be found around dead bodies a lot, too."

"First of all, I'm not sure how you can jest about such morbid things," Vilkas commented with another shake of his head, though this one seemed more amused. "Second, if you were found around dead bodies, you wouldn't be here; you would've been hanged long ago. Your talent lies in _not_ being found around them."

Vilkas' ability to jest about the same topics he'd just commented on caught Lisara off guard, and she threw her head back as she let out a loud laugh. Her laughter petered out as they came to a stop at an arched, metal door across the graveyard. "Sometimes, you surprise me, Vilkas. But I suppose you've got a point there. Look at you, jesting about morbid things like little ol' _me_."

A dry chuckle escaped him and he smiled down at her. "Who would have thought?" he teased in a quiet voice.

They stared at each other for a brief moment, matching smiles on their faces, before Vilkas turned away and pushed open the door. After they slid into the hall beyond, Vilkas let go of the door and it closed with an echoing thud.

A shudder wracked Lisara's body, and she quietly noted, "It's awfully cold in here."

Seemingly unaffected as usual, Vilkas shrugged. "Windhelm isn't known for being warm, and it looks like this hall leads downwards."

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to contain her body heat. "Makes sense. The temperature likely helps keeps the bodies in decent condition. Let's go find Helgird, then—and fast, before I freeze to death."

Together, they trekked down the multiple, long, winding sets of staircases until they reached the bottom level. The path branched out into three separate tunnels and the duo paused in the center, their heads swiveling from left to right as they tried to decide which direction to go in. Vilkas moved towards the left tunnel, and Lisara was inclined to follow him until she heard a quiet murmur float through the air.

She paused in mid-step, looking back over her shoulder as she concentrated on the sound. It seemed like it was coming from behind them—the tunnel to the right—and she reached out to grab Vilkas' hand. When he felt her fingers brush against his, he turned back.

"This way," she suggested, gesturing over her shoulder down the tunnel.

He furrowed his brows but acquiesced, and they headed in the opposite direction. The voice grew louder as they walked farther down the hall, and when the archway opened up into a wider room, they found a woman fully clad in robes, standing beside a long table: Helgird. Apparently, she'd been taking note of the body's condition aloud.

She looked up upon their entrance, her face scrunching up in annoyance at being interrupted. "Yes?"

Vilkas cleared his throat and pointed at the body. "We've come from Jorleif; we're to help in the investigation. Have you noticed anything strange about the body?"

"Well," Helgird started as she faced them head-on. "She'd dead, but I supposed that's not too strange for someone who's in here." She interjected with a chuckle, and finished with, "I mean, someone who isn't me."

Out of the corner of his eye, Vilkas glanced at Lisara, who shrugged. It was hard to tell whether the woman was serious or joking, because she delivered her "punch line" a bit too straight-faced.

When neither of them responded, Helgird cleared her throat. "Sorry, I was only joking."

Lisara lowered her brows in frustration. "Right. So . . . the body?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course." This time, Helgird turned away from them and looked back at the body. "The only 'unusual' thing I found was the shape of the cuts. They look like they were made with—well, the ancient Nords used these strange, curved blades on the bodies when they embalmed their dead. I don't know who would even have something like that anymore. Other than me, of course."

_This woman is completely off her rocker,_ Lisara thought. "Mmhm. Well, please let us know if you find anything else out of the ordinary."

"Right, of course. I really ought to get back to the body now, so if you'll excuse me. There's a lot of work to do to prepare her for the grave."

"I'm sure," Vilkas said, wrapping his hand around the curve of Lisara's shoulder. With one final thanks that went unnoted, he led Lisara out of the room and they ambled back up the stairs.

Once they were back outside, he let out a deep sigh. "Well, she wasn't the most helpful, was she?"

Lisara tilted her head back slightly to watch the setting sun. With an inquisitive hum, she tapped her finger against her chin. "That's not necessarily true . . . she did give us a hint: the curved blades. Who would have something like that in their possession?"

"Just in town? Or are we including beyond the limits?"

"Anyone could have brought a weapon into town, but for now . . . let's go with within the limits."

Vilkas tucked his chin into his chest as his brows cinched together in deep thought. A few seconds later, he murmured, "I don't have the slightest clue."

A thought crossed her mind, and Lisara reached out to place her hand on his chest. "Wait, weren't there blood stains on the grave? Where the body was found?"

He looked up, his pale eyes staring straight into hers. "Yes, why?"

"The guard said there was a trail. Maybe it will lead us to the next clue, or something. Sometimes murderers aren't as careful as they _should_ be, and that's how people are caught," Lisara said.

"That's true," he replied, his eyes lighting up in excitement. He rushed off towards the grave with Lisara on his heels.

After they stood just in front of the grave marker, he looked around frantically, searching for the tiniest hint of a blood trail. Lisara had shifted behind him slightly when he suddenly pointed off in the opposite direction. "There!"

"Did you see that or did you _smell_ it?" she asked incredulously; the mark was quite a ways away.

"Both," he admitted with a grimace.

She'd been about to say that it was a good thing he had his inhuman abilities still, but after seeing the look on his face, the words died in her throat. Perhaps it was best not to voice those thoughts.

With Vilkas leading the way, the two of the them followed the blood trail out of the alley and up a narrow walkway that led to the higher tier of the city. It appeared to be a residential area; every time the walkway widened, they were surrounded by three or four homely façades. Finally, they reached the top of the incremental staircases. The long trail culminated in a large crimson splash that spread across the stone in the center of the courtyard, before trailing off to the left.

"How do people simply not notice these things?" Lisara asked, a slight sneer on her face.

"Most just do not care. Like the guard said," Vilkas replied as he moved closer to the door of the home that the trail ended at. "Everyone else has their own problems to deal with."

"And people wonder why I've given up all hope in humanity," she muttered under her breath.

When Vilkas tried to pull the door open, it snapped back with a loud rattle. "Locked. We'll have to see if we can gain access to it."

"Back to Jorleif?" Lisara suggested.

If he was prone to groaning, now would've been the perfect time to express his irritation at having to retrace their steps. But instead, Vilkas simply let his shoulders droop ever-so-slightly as he let out a long sigh.

"Yes, back to Jorleif."

* * *

A few minutes later, Vilkas and Lisara stepped off the stone staircase into Jorleif's tiny storage room. Instead of standing at the pot like he'd been last time, the somewhat slender Nord was over by the large storage shelves against the far wall. When they were but a few steps away from him, he finally turned around and acknowledged them.

"You two again. Tell me, did you find out anything?"

"Maybe," Lisara began. "We need to get into a house in the residential district. It's up at the top of the stairs, on the left."

"Top of the stairs . . . on the left you say? Hjerim?" Jorleif looked surprised at the topic of their conversation. "I can't remember the last time someone asked about Hjerim. That's Friga Shatter-Shield's old place. It's . . . been abandoned ever since she was killed. I think her mother, Tova, has the key."

Unlike Vilkas, Lisara had no qualms about expressing her irritation aloud. "Wonderful. Another person to hunt down and speak to."

Jorleif seemed inclined to respond in a not-so-friendly manner, judging by the scowl that was spreading across his face, and Vilkas quickly thanked him before practically dragging Lisara out of the room.

"That was a bit rude, don't you think?" he snapped at her once they were standing back in the main hall.

"No, I don't." After tugging her arm out of his grip, she said, "All of the things we've been doing—running around and asking people questions, following rather obvious blood trails—could have easily been done by Jorleif or any of his guards. They're not _difficult_ tasks, so why are we having to be the ones who run around town like chickens without heads?"

They were almost at the main doors to the Palace when Vilkas replied, "Because we offered to help, lass, so help we shall."

As he was pushing open the door, Lisara let out another sigh. "Yes, _help_. Not do the guards' jobs for them." When Vilkas opened his mouth to respond, Lisara interrupted him. "Yes, yes, I know they've said they were busy, but this isn't _our_ job. Helping out and taking care of someone else's responsibilities for them are entirely different things."

Vilkas simply shook his head instead of responding, and they hurriedly made their way back to the residential district. A quick question to a passerby revealed that the Shatter-Shield's residence was just below Hjerim, and a few minutes later, when they stood just in front of the door, Vilkas looked over at Lisara with a frown.

"Are you going to be testy with Tova, too?"

Lisara frowned at him. "I wasn't being testy, I was—" At the look on Vilkas face, she conceded. "Fine, I was a _little_ testy. But no, I'll let you do the talking, if that's what you want."

"Maybe it would be best to let me handle it for now." He reached up and banged his fist against the metal door, and the sound echoed throughout the house. When nearly a minute had passed, he frowned and knocked again.

When no one called out, and it didn't even sound like anyone was heading for the door, Lisara shuffled in place. "Perhaps we should just . . . let ourselves in?"

Vilkas' frown intensified. "I'd rather not do that if we don't absolutely have to. Why break in if she's just . . . sleeping? Or gone?"

"At supper time?" Lisara noted. "Just . . . here, move over."

Vilkas shifted aside when she nudged him in the arm, before crouching down. She flipped open the third pouch on her belt, feeling inside for her collection of bobby pins. When her fingers came back empty, she swore under her breath.

"I knew I was running low," she muttered. Vilkas glanced over his shoulder before moving behind her to block her from view, just in case anyone happened to look over at the house from the path.

"Problem?" he asked quietly.

"I've just run out of bobby pins. But it's fine," she replied, pulling the collar of her armor down. "I always have an emergency stash."

Raising his eyebrows, he said, sounding incredulous, "Under your shirt?"

"Not quite," she replied with a sly grin. " _In_ my shirt."

After unclasping one of the belts, she peeled her armor aside and pulled out one of the pins she'd sewn into the lining. With her teeth, she pulled off her right glove and fingered the pin, noting its weight distribution and length. A quick jerk of her head left and right later, she leaned over and stuck the pin into the door's keyhole.

Behind her, Vilkas tsked in displeasure, though he didn't say anything or try to stop her. A few wiggles of the bobby pin later, Lisara heard the telltale click of the door unlocking and stood with a satisfied smile.

"See?" she said, tucking the pin into her belt pouch. "It's always a good idea to keep an emergency stash."

Vilkas hummed noncommittally before reaching past her to push open the door. It creaked open and they slid inside before closing and locking the door behind them. The house was eerily quiet; occasionally, the frame of the house groaned and popped in protest to the wind outside. Aside from the natural sounds of the house settling, though, it was silent.

"Maybe she really isn't home," Lisara whispered.

"Well, you've already broken us in, so we might as well go look," Vilkas suggested, matching the volume of her voice.

They wandered throughout the rooms on the first floor, and a few minutes later, when they reconvened by the staircase leading upwards, they both shook their heads. Vilkas tilted his head towards the staircase, and when Lisara nodded, they headed upstairs. After they reached the-midway point, Lisara noticed that the air warmed considerably with each step. Strange, considering most hearths were located on the first floor. When the landing appeared, she saw that a fire was indeed blazing in the hearth at the top of the stairs.

When they reached the second floor, they paused, staring at the fireplace. Lisara shook her head at the sight before looking up at Vilkas. "Why start a fire if you were planning on leaving your house? That's a good way to ensure you'll come back to a pile of wood, doused in flames."

Vilkas too shook his head before looking off to his right. "I'm not sure. Perhaps she wasn't planning on being gone long."

She didn't respond, instead chewing at the inside of her lip in deep thought. Her head swiveled to the left, and something out of the corner of her eye had her doing a double-take. When she realized what it was, her eyes widened and she elbowed Vilkas in the side. He grunted, but looked back over at her.

"What is it, lass?"

Lisara pointed at the still body on the floor in the next room over. "I think I found her."

Vilkas followed her finger, and when he saw Tova's body, he let out a sigh. "Aye, I think you did."

With slow steps, the duo traipsed into the next room, eyes locked on Tova Shatter-Shield where she lay on the fur pelt, draped over the wooden floors. Lisara kneeled beside the woman's corpse and reached out, gently placing her fingers on the top of Tova's hand.

"She's still slightly warm, but . . . barely—only to the touch. I'd say she's been dead for a little while now. I can't tell whether the warmth is from her, or the fire in the hall," she noted.

Vilkas made a sound in the back of his throat that Lisara assumed was meant to be an expression of his displeasure. He scanned Tova's body quickly, before his gaze darted up towards her head. "There's a note lying next to her."

Lisara turned back to the body and when she saw the note in question, she reached over Tova and grabbed it off the ground. After unfolding it, her eyes darted quickly across the page. When she finished reading it, she let her hand fall to her side.

"She killed herself. Said she couldn't live after losing two daughters," Lisara murmured.

Vilkas studied Tova's body for a few seconds in silence, before he said, "I can't imagine losing two children, but . . . to do this?"

Lisara kneeled down again and placed the note on Tova's chest. "I am most definitely not one to judge. Maybe she still has the key on her?" She started rummaging through Tova's pockets, trying her hardest not to disturb the body. It wasn't that she had any qualms about looting bodies, but she wasn't sure how Vilkas would take it. Tova wasn't a bandit they'd felled on the path, after all.

Behind her, Vilkas didn't say anything, but she swore she could feel waves of disapproval coming from him. She found the key in Tova's left pocket and stood, holding it up before Vilkas.

He nodded and turned around, heading back for the stairs. "Let's go see if the key works."

A few minutes later, they stood in front of Hjerim and Lisara inserted the key into the lock, twisting it with a hopeful expression on her face. When they heard the tumblers give way and the door pushed open, they shared a nod and headed inside the dark, abandoned house.

When Lisara's eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, she blinked a couple of times before looking around. To her left was a rather large splash of blood, turned deep crimson with time. It was gruesome to be sure, and she wondered if _this_ was where all of the killings had been carried out. A slight fog drifted through the room, and she fought to suppress a shiver; she knew Skyrim was cold, but by Sithis . . . fog _inside_ a house?

Vilkas wandered over to their right and Lisara opted to head left, in the direction of the blood smears. Over on the other side of the room, a mess of mead bottles and various junk items were strewn out about the floor. She nudged some of the items aside with her boots, but when she noticed that the mead bottles had a fine layer of dust on them, she decided they weren't important enough to note.

She wandered back over the blood trail, and followed it to a chest that sat against the stone wall. From the scrapes on the wooden floor, it seemed like the chest had been moved recently. Equally as gruesome as the smears of blood along the floor, the chest was coated in blood.

Lisara wrinkled her nose in distaste before reaching out to push the chest open. There wasn't much inside: a stack of loose papers and a bound journal. Quickly, she shuffled through the papers, looking for anything that might be a clue. They turned out to be simply copies of the same notice about someone called "The Butcher", and Lisara placed them on top of the chest when she realized they were all the same. Then, she grabbed the journal and quickly leafed through it. After letting it fall to a random page, she skimmed the contents.

Her expression grew darker and darker as she realized what she was reading. It seemed like this "Butcher" kept a journal of his victims—rather gorey, descriptive things, too. There was mention of Susanna, which solidified Lisara's suspicion, and she continued to flip through the rest of the pages.

"'The most exquisite tendons'? By Sithis . . ." Lisara trailed off as she rose to her feet, still reading the last of the journal entries. When she was finished, she tucked it into her pack and proceeded to wander to the back of the house. She could hear Vilkas' heavy footsteps on the opposite side of the wall, but he hadn't called out to her, so she assumed he hadn't found anything interesting yet.

They met at the intersection of the hallways, and she jerked her head back towards the anterior room. "I found a journal that I think belongs to the killer. He's . . . something else."

Vilkas frowned. "I'm not sure I _want_ to know what you mean."

"Let's just say he would've fit in with the Dark Brotherhood _very_ well."

"Ugh." Vilkas looked over towards a small alcove set back in the wall. "Have you looked over there?"

"No, not yet."

He nodded in affirmation and led the way into the alcove. There were a few wardrobes and a small shelf tucked into an even smaller alcove against the far wall. Vilkas proceeded to look inside the wardrobes, so Lisara headed over to the bookshelf that was littered with loose papers. Upon further inspection, she realized it was more of the notices she'd found in the chest.

"Why would anyone need this many notices? And why would the killer be setting out notices for himself? Doesn't that seem odd to you?" Lisara asked Vilkas without turning out.

"A bit. But this killer seems absolutely insane, not right in the head in the slightest, so who can really say?" he replied, rummaging through one of the wardrobes.

"Hmm." Lisara set down the stack of papers and moved to turn around when one of the papers slid off the shelf and onto the floor.

She looked back with lowered brows, and realized that she'd set them down on something that wasn't the shelf itself. After brushing aside a few of the papers, she picked up a strange looking amulet. It had a silver chain, and attached to the loop on the bottom was an oval, emerald stone that appeared to have a skull etched into it.

"Rather morbid, though for a killer, I suppose it's appropriate," she muttered to herself. After turning around, she called out, "Vilkas, I found something else."

"Me too, lass," he said, his voice muffled since he had his head buried in a wardrobe. Something clicked inside, and he stepped back out, looking smug. "Come see."

When she sidled up to him, she realized the back panel of the wardrobe had slid aside, revealing a room beyond. With raised eyebrows, she looked up at him. "Wow, I'm impressed. You've turned out to be quite the sleuth."

With a slight bow, he gestured for her to go first. She returned it with a mock-curtsy, and stepped through the narrow doorway into the hidden room. As soon as she stepped onto the wooden floor on the opposite side of the wall, she grimaced.

"I . . . think we've found our killer's work room," she stated, as Vilkas climbed through the doorway to stand behind her.

He took one look around the room before letting out a low whistle. "I think you're right, lass. Again."

Bones of all kinds were littered across the floor: femurs, skulls, and a nearly whole ribcage and spine. Some were picked clean, and as white as the snow outside. Others were soaked in blood that was still reflecting the light of the candles on the stone altar across the way. A basket filled to the brim with more skulls rested to the side of the altar, and Lisara turned away from it with her lips in a tight line.

"This is beyond gruesome," she murmured.

Vilkas was inspecting the altar from a good distance away, likely because it too was covered in bones. A red, leather book rested on the edge of the altar, and when he stepped away from it, he picked the book up. He let it fall open naturally, and by chance, it landed on the last page the killer had been turned to. As he read, his countenance grew more and more grim, and he finally snapped the book closed.

"We have to find this man, Lisara." He turned to her with eyes blazing. "Someone this dangerous and twisted cannot be allowed to roam the city— _any_ city—any longer."

Lisara nodded in agreement. "We can take these things back to Jorleif. Or—" She moved back into the next room to grab one of the fliers from the shelf, Vilkas on her heels. "We can go speak to this . . . Viola, about what we've found here."

"Viola?" Vilkas echoed.

Lisara handed him one of the many fliers from the shelf, and after he read through it, he looked back up at her and said, "Well, it can't hurt to talk to her. Maybe she knows more than she let on in the notices."

"True."

After stuffing their findings into her pack with the first journal, they left Hjerim. The sun had sank below the horizon; apparently, they'd been searching for clues longer than they'd thought. Of course, having found a lead, they now had to figure out the next step. They had a name, but no location; Viola Giordano could be anywhere in Windhelm.

Once they were standing back out on the walking path, Vilkas faced Lisara. "Although . . . we don't even know what Viola looks like, or where to find her. Perhaps we should go speak to Jorleif about what we've found first."

Lisara shrugged. "Whatever you think is best."

They headed back up to the Palace of the Kings, and much to their surprise, Jorleif was sitting at one of the long tables in the main hall instead of being down in his usual room. When the heavy wooden doors fell shut behind them, he glanced up in their direction and waved them over to join him at the table. They opted to sit beside one another, facing Jorleif, as opposed to sitting on opposite sides.

Once they were settled, Jorleif said, "I take it you two found something _else_?"

"A few things," Lisara said, shifting her pack onto her lap. After rummaging around in it, she pulled out a couple of the things they'd found in Hjerim. "A couple of journals, a plethora of fliers from a 'Viola Giordano', and this strange amulet."

Once Lisara had placed the items on the table, Jorleif reached out and grabbed the amulet. "Hmm. I would go and ask Calixto Corrium about this amulet. He may know something about it. As for the fliers, Viola Giordano can usually be found around Candlehearth Hall. I believe she goes there almost every evening. In fact—" He glanced out the window before turning back to them. "She should be there now, if she's out and about tonight."

"Who is this Calixto?" Vilkas questioned.

Jorleif cleared his throat before leaning back slightly. "Calixto Corrium is a . . . well, I suppose you could call him a sort of arts dealer. He specializes in objects of a 'strange' nature, as he puts it. Things that are questionable, peculiar in any way, things like that. I'm sure he'd be able to tell you more about this amulet."

Lisara leaned forward. "And what would Viola know about the murderer?"

"She's been trying to find clues and help my men with keeping an eye out since the first murder occurred. I'm not sure if she could help, but it's worth talking to her."

Vilkas rose to his feet and nodded at Jorleif. After stuffing the items back into her bag, Lisara followed suit. Vilkas cleared his throat before saying, "We'll go check with them then, and let you know if we find out anything else."

Jorleif nodded in acknowledgment, and the two of them headed back outside. As they trekked down the steps from the Palace, Vilkas was quiet, seemingly lost in thought. When a few minutes ticked by and he still hadn't said anything, Lisara looked up at him, intending on asking him what he'd come up with, when he interrupted _her_ instead.

"Let's go speak to Calixto first. If he can identify what this amulet is, then we may not even have to speak to Viola," he suggested.

"You don't think she has anything of importance to say?"

"If she's been helping the guards 'keep an eye out', I doubt she knows much more than us—if that," Vilkas replied in a wry tone.

"Fair enough. Calixto it is, then. There's a shop district here, yes?"

At that, Vilkas veered to the side and led the way out of the main plaza. "Indeed there is."

A few minutes later, they were standing in front of a shop labeled, "House of Curiosities". With a quick, doubtful, shared glance, Vilkas reached up and knocked hard on the door. It was past closing, but from the lights shining through the window, it was obvious that this "Calixto" was still awake.

Only a short while later, the door pulled open and revealed a man with narrow, pointed features. Lisara squinted up at him, thinking he looked awfully familiar.

"Are you Calixto Corrium?" Vilkas asked.

The man nodded and inclined his head ever-so-slightly. "Yes, that would be me. Unfortunately, my shop is closed at the moment . . ."

Now that she'd heard his voice, Lisara realized she _did_ recognize him. "I saw you . . . earlier. When Susanna's body was found," she said, pointing at him.

"I—Yes. It's unfortunate, what happened to Susanna."

"Right. Unfortunate," Lisara murmured. "Anyway, we have something we need you to appraise for us."

"Oh? Well, like I said, my shop is closed—"

Vilkas quickly stepped forward, causing Calixto to take a step back in surprise. "We're here on Jorleif's behalf. It won't take long."

Calixto hesitated for a moment before he moved beside the door, holding it open farther for them to head in. "Very well."

They brushed past him and stepped inside, glancing around at the shop's various shelves and counters filled with odds and ends of all sorts. After Calixto shut the door, he migrated over to a single chair perched in the corner of the shop. Once he was seated, he held his hand out to them.

It took a second for Lisara to fish out the amulet from her pack, but she placed it in Calixto's open palm once she found it. He inspected it closely, holding it up to eye-level so that the light could reflect off of it at one point, before looking back up at them.

"Where did you say you found this?"

Lisara glanced over at Vilkas, unsure of how much she should share. He didn't react, so she assumed it was safe to be truthful—at least, for this answer. She looked back at Calixto and said, "In the killer's . . . lair, I suppose you could call it."

"Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but . . . I'm quite certain this amulet belongs to the court mage, Wuunferth. He used to dabble in necromancy before he was employed by the jarl, you see, and this is most definitely his. I've seen it in his possession before."

"Wuunferth, hm?" Vilkas repeated, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes. That being said, I'd like to purchase it from you if you don't need it for your investigation. It's quite a peculiar amulet and I'd love to add it to my personal collection," Calixto explained.

For some reason, getting rid of a bit of evidence rubbed Lisara the wrong way, so before Vilkas could say anything to Calixto, she reached out and took the amulet back from the Imperial. "No, unfortunately, we'll have to hang onto it until the investigation is concluded. But you are more than welcome to purchase it then."

Calixto eyed Lisara for a few, uncomfortable seconds, before he inclined his head. "I understand. Well, I hope I was of some help to the two of you, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to usher you out now; I was just about to head to bed."

"Of course," Vilkas said, moving towards the door. "Thank you for helping us after hours."

Once they moved back outside, Calixto said, "My pleasure. Good luck with your investigation," and shut the door in their faces.

They didn't move away at first, and simply stood there, staring at the door. Eventually, Lisara faced Vilkas. "Shall we speak to Viola before we report back to Jorleif?"

"I don't suppose it would _hurt_ at this point," Vilkas mumbled. "To the inn, then."

* * *

Over the course of the day, it felt like they'd been all over the city, pulled and back forth according to other people's agendas. It was terribly exhausting, and now it was well past dinnertime, and it didn't seem like the case was going to be resolved anytime soon.

With a sigh, Lisara pulled open the door to Candlehearth Hall and the two of them traipsed inside, seeking Viola as well as shelter from the cold. The same woman that had helped them earlier was standing behind the counter again, and she looked up when they walked in.

A smile of recognition spread across her face. "Welcome back, you two. What can I get for you this time?"

Vilkas offered a pseudo-wave—more of a lift of the hand, really—by way of a greeting, and said, "We actually just need information."

"I am more than happy to provide that," she replied.

Lisara stepped up to the counter. "Viola Giordano. Where can we find her?"

"Viola?" The innkeeper's eyes widened slightly. "You actually just missed her. She stepped outside only a minute or so before you two walked in."

"Of course she did," Vilkas muttered under his breath. Lisara tried to smother the laugh that crept up her throat as he added a word of thanks, and the two of them hurried back outside.

Up ahead, not too far off, a woman with gray hair, streaked through with lighter silver, was walking briskly away from them. The two of them scurried after her, Vilkas a little ways ahead of Lisara. When they were a few steps behind her, Vilkas called out to the woman, and she turned around with a questioning look on her face.

With short breaths peppering his words, Vilkas asked, "Are you Viola?"

"Yes?"

"We've a few questions to ask you about this 'Butcher'. We found your pamphlets," he explained, straightening after catching his breath.

"Ah, yes," Viola responded, her face twisting up in distaste. "I've been following him for months now. The guards won't help, and neither will the people. I'm the only one who thinks he can be caught."

Vilkas sighed imperceptibly before saying, "I'm sure. We found a journal in the killer's lair and was wondering if you could tell us anything else you know about the killer."

"A journal? Well, what does it say?" Viola asked, completely bypassing Vilkas' other point about more information. Clearly, she hadn't been joking about her interminable interest in "The Butcher".

Vilkas shuffled in place, seemingly uncertain about how much information to share with Viola. Eventually, he settled on, "We can't say for sure yet, but it seems like the killer—who is possibly the court mage—has been . . . experimenting."

Lisara crossed her arms before addressing Viola herself. "We've spoken to Jorleif, the steward, and he directed us to someone who confirmed that another piece of evidence belonged to the court mage. Does that mean anything to you?"

Viola looked surprised, but then her expression evened out. "Wuunferth . . . there have been rumors circulating about him for years. He's a dangerous man, and I wouldn't recommend approaching him directly. I would recommend returning to Jorleif immediately and telling him about what you've discovered."

Vilkas grumbled something that Lisara couldn't hear, but she assumed he wasn't too happy about having to run back to the Palace of the Kings yet again. She smiled slightly at Viola in thanks, before grasping Vilkas' hand and pulling him towards the stone steps to their right once more.

"This is the third time we've been back here," he said from between clenched teeth as they stepped into the main hall again.

Lisara took slow steps into the room, absentmindedly murmuring, "Indeed it is," in response to Vilkas. Her mind was racing, trying to analyze everything they'd discovered in the past few minutes.

It all seemed too _easy_. They found all of this evidence, conveniently laid out for them at the supposed site of the killings. People they questioned seemed so sure that it was Wuunferth, the court mage, and yet . . . Lisara didn't share their conviction. If they'd had to ferret out the information, or there were witnesses perhaps seeing Wuunferth around town, it might've been more believable. But not a single person had mentioned him until they'd spoken to Calixto.

How had a man who dealt in strange oddities for sale noticed a personal amulet of the court mage, of all people? He hadn't seemed like an individual who would often be found within the palace walls. And if it was hearsay, wouldn't they have heard it from someone else as well?

Jorleif was sitting in the same spot as before, and when Vilkas moved to walk towards him, Lisara reached out to grab his hand, pulling him back. He was far too heavy for her to actually stop him in mid-step, but he did stagger back slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her in confusion.

"Vilkas, I think we should go speak to Wuunferth."

At that, his brows furrowed over his pale eye, and he studied her face for a few seconds before he spoke. " _Speak_ to him? Lass, you heard Viola; he's too dangerous to confront. Don't you think we should go speak to Jorleif about what we've found out?"

"Not yet. There's something about all of this that seems too . . . convenient. If Wuunferth _isn't_ the killer, then we'll have wasted time. If he _is_ , we can bring him to Jorleif ourselves. Do you honestly think the two of _us_ can't handle one man?"

"If he's a powerful mage, then _yes_. You don't dabble in serious levels of magic, and I don't dabble in magic _at all_ ," he replied, swiping his arm through the air when he said that.

"Just . . . Vilkas, I really think we should just go speak to him. We spoke to Calixto and Viola per Jorleif's request. It just seems wrong not to speak to Wuunferth, too—cover all of our bases," Lisara protested.

Again, Vilkas studied her face as he let out a sigh. After a moment of staring into each other's eyes, he finally nodded. "Fine. Let's go speak to Wuunferth. I hope you're right, lass."

"Me too," she mumbled, following Vilkas down the hallway to their left that they'd had yet to explore.

At the end of the long hallway was a room filled with multiple shelves, stocked with various vials of powders and liquids, a table of enchantment, and a wizened man with a beard that could rival the Greybeards' sitting in a lone chair in the corner. He looked up at them when they entered, and patiently waited for them to approach him.

"Are you Wuunferth?" Lisara asked.

"Yes, lass. I am," the elder replied.

"We—" She cut herself off, unsure of where to start. Calixto had mentioned that the mage had fiddled with necromancy before coming to work for the jarl, so perhaps if she mentioned it, they could gauge his reaction. "We've heard that you dabble in necromancy."

Immediately, the old man reeled back in his chair. "Necromancy?" he exclaimed. "I am a member of the College of Winterhold! In good standing! They haven't allowed necromancy for hundreds of years."

_Well, that's a resounding no_ , Lisara thought wryly. _Still . . ._ two _people claim that he's the killer? Perhaps I should try a different tangent._ "We found your journals, and your amulet, where the Butcher worked. If they're not yours, then whose are they?"

"A what now? I've _never_ kept a journal, I assure you," Wuunferth replied. The old man peered up from under his hood at Lisara. "What exactly did this amulet look like?"

Lisara pulled out the amulet from her pocket, where she'd stashed it after leaving Calixto's shop. "Eight-sided, made of jade, ringed with ebony. There's a worn carving in the center of it. Here," she noted, before handing the amulet over to Wuunferth.

Once Wuunferth saw the amulet for himself, his expression tightened. "Mm, I know it well. Or at least, I've heard of it. I would wager that carving was once of a skull. It's a necromancer's amulet of legend. It appears you were _half_ right: there _is_ necromancy involved in this."

Vilkas sighed, this time considerably louder than all the times he had before over the course of the day. "So, where do we go from here?"

Wuunferth looked over at Vilkas, his lips pursed in thought. "It would seem there's a pattern to when these killings happen. Now that we know they're tied to some necromantic ritual, I may know where the next will occur. Let's see . . ." He trailed off, muttering to himself for a few seconds before his voice increased in volume. "It will happen soon! Very soon! Keep watch in the Stone Quarter tomorrow night. That's almost certainly where the killer will strike next!"

"Uh-huh," Vilkas acknowledged, dragging out the syllables. "Thank you for your . . . help, Wuunferth."

"Be careful. This killer clearly has no qualms about doing whatever it takes to ensure their ritual is successful," the wizened mage warned them as they left his alcove.

They traipsed back through the hall, nodding at Jorleif before pushing through the doors and heading back outside—again.

When they were descending the steps, Lisara asked, "Where's the Stone Quarter?"

"We're standing in it. It's the main quarter of the city. We've mostly just been at the inn, but there's a small area with a marketplace, just through that archway," Vilkas explained, pointing off to their right.

Lisara followed his finger, gazing off at the other end of town before facing him again. "Wuunferth said the killer wouldn't strike again until tomorrow night so . . . what do we do until then?"

"There's not much we _can_ do. I doubt Farkas and Aela waited outside the city gates for us this long—especially since Aela was so anxious to reach our destination. They'll likely wait for us at the entrance to Ysgramor's Tomb. After all, I have Wuuthrad—" As if worried at the mention of the weapon, he reached up and briefly wrapped his fingers around the handle. "—so they'll have to wait for us either way."

"True. So . . . inn?" Lisara suggested with a slight shrug.

"Inn," Vilkas echoed. Yet again, they made their way to Candlehearth Hall.

The innkeeper chuckled a bit when she saw them walk in, but after Vilkas paid for a single room for the night, she quirked an eyebrow at them before leading them to their temporary quarters. They quickly dropped their bags onto the floor, and their various weapons, before stripping off their armor. Lisara draped hers over the back of the lone chair in the room, stretching her back from side to side with a groan. Her pack wasn't the lightest; it was likely time to sell a few things that they'd accumulated in their travels.

Vilkas stood in front of the chest at the foot of the bed, stacking the various bits and pieces of his armor in a neat, orderly fashion. Lisara watched him for a moment, amused, until he faced her with a neutral expression.

"Are you—I should have asked before, but . . . you're all right with sharing a bed, right lass?"

He sounded so uncertain and timid, which was terribly uncharacteristic of him, and Lisara almost snickered at him. She knew that would only make him feel more self-conscious, though, so she suppressed her laughter and opted for a slight smile.

"Do you even have to ask anymore?" she said quietly, reaching out to grasp the front of his coarse linen shirt.

A hesitant chuckle escaped him as he allowed her to lead him towards the bed. He grasped her hand, squeezing it slightly before pulling away. She was already halfway under the covers when she looked over at him with a silent question in his eyes. A second passed before she received her answer; he'd pulled away to blow out all of the candles around the room, leaving only the one lit on the nightstand.

Satisfied, she swept her legs all the way under the blanket before scooting over to make room for him. The bed was rather small, but when they were asleep, it seemed as if they ended up entangled with one another as it was. There was little to no point in sleeping in separate beds at this point.

Vilkas walked over to the bedside, and the corner of his lip quirked upwards in amusement when he saw that she was perched on the very edge of the bed. "You're going to fall off if you sleep there, lass."

"Well, I'm waiting for _you_. I know I won't stay here long," she teased.

This time, he let out a genuine laugh before sliding into bed beside her. After tucking his legs under the blanket, he leaned over and blew out the last remaining candle, plunging them into darkness.

He shifted slightly, rolling over onto his side and holding his arm up in the air. Taking his cue, she rolled over as well, so that her back was against his front, and slid underneath his offered arm. Once she was in place, he draped his heavy, warm arm over her, pulling her in closer.

To Lisara's surprise, her eyelids were droopy, and she was having a hard time staying awake. It had been a long day, there was no doubt about that, but she hadn't realized just how exhausted she truly was until this very moment.

She was already halfway asleep when Vilkas' lips grazed the outer edge of her ear, and he whispered, "Goodnight, lass."

Her only response was an incoherent mumble, and then she was slipping off into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to StarryNight101 for beta-reading on such short notice as always. You are a godsend <3 
> 
> First, as always, so sorry for this taking longer than usual. School has been a bitch this semester. I'm so grateful to everyone still reading and leaving comments and whatnot. I love all of you so much.


	19. A Secret Revealed

They rose with the sun, dragging themselves out of bed with slow, lethargic movements. To Lisara, it seemed like they'd been on the move ever since she'd first met Vilkas; what she wouldn't give for a few days of downtime, of dedicated rest. But even from the start, it had never seemed like that was in the cards for them.

As she stretched her arms above her head and leaned to the side, the vertebrae of her spine popped one by one, releasing the pent-up tension that had been settling in them for who knew how long. Beside her, a low groan escaped Vilkas. When she glanced over, she saw that he'd done the exact same thing. He was now slumped forward, massaging the base of his spine with his knuckles.

"Is your age catching up with you, old man?" Lisara teased, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him straighten with a scowl.

"'Old'? I'm hardly _old_ , lass," he retorted, facing her head-on. "Unless you consider three-and-thirty to be 'old'."

Lisara's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she processed that information. Before, he'd told her he was "nearly thirty" - apparently he'd shaved off a few years. Back then, it hadn't seemed the slightest bit important. Now, however . . .

 _Does it_ really _matter?_ she mused to herself. _Age is but a number_ — _or so people say, right? He didn't seem terribly upset the first time we talked about this, but things are different now . . ._

Opting not to respond, because she wasn't sure what Vilkas would think of the difference in their ages, all she offered was a noncommittal hum. She meandered over to the washbasin without looking at him, though she could feel his eyes following her across the room.

Finally, a few seconds later, Vilkas cleared his throat. Sounding hesitant, as if he'd rather not know the answer, he asked, " _Is_ that old, lass? What _is_ your age?"

Lisara paused in motion, her hands filled with water and poised halfway to her face. Slowly, she let the water fall back into the bowl. Gripping the edges of the basin, she shrugged one shoulder and tried to sound nonchalant when she replied, "I wouldn't call it 'old', no . . . I'm three-and-twenty. I turn four-and-twenty in a few weeks. "

"Three-and—" Vilkas sputtered behind her. "— _twenty_? There are ten _years_ between us?"

Rolling her eyes because she knew this was how he would react, she pivoted on her heel. When their eyes met—his widened incredulously, and hers narrowed—she let out a sigh. "Does it honestly matter, Vilkas? What does the difference in our ages change?"

"Well, I-I was ten when you were born—nearly a man."

"I would hardly call _ten_ nearly a man. You were very much still a young boy," she remarked derisively.

"You know what I _mean_ , Lisara."

"I do, and I think it's ridiculous," she commented, turning back to the water basin. "My age has never affected my feelings for you, and it shouldn't affect yours, either. I know you, and you know me. At this point, we know each other _intimately_ , I would say. Finding out each other's ages changes none of that."

Her rant over, she finally splashed her face with cold water, shivering ever-so-slightly at the frigid temperature. After wiping the excess away, she straightened and grabbed her old shirt from yesterday to dry off her face. "If it _does_ change things, then perhaps you and I are much more different than either of us thought. Perhaps—"

Vilkas' arms snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. His close proximity caught her off-guard, and she halted in mid-sentence. When his lips grazed the top of her ear, she shivered again, though not from the cold this time. "I'm sorry, lass, I didn't mean it that way. I simply . . . The knowledge caught me by surprise."

Lisara sagged in his arms, her brusque attitude at his reaction leaving her. "Does it change things, Vilkas? Really?"

Gently, he turned her around to face him. Cupping her face in his hands, he murmured, "It changes nothing—certainly not the way I feel about you. You accepted my condition, my _curse_ , without any qualms; helped me come to terms with it, and even still, are helping me rid myself of it. You have stayed by my side through all of this." A smirk teased at the corner of his lips. "And yes, you chose not to kill me, which I'm rather grateful for. Your age hasn't affected any of that in the slightest. So no, it doesn't change a thing."

She stared into his pale eyes, still struck speechless by how beautiful they were. A sigh seeped out of her, and she eventually reached up to place her hand over his. "All right, then."

"All right, then," he echoed, straightening after he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Now, let's go finish this. Once we find this sadistic, cruel murderer, we can take care of what we need to do."

After gathering all of their things, and Vilkas had strapped Wuuthrad to his back once more, the two of them left the room. As they were making their way down the hall, Lisara came to a sudden stop, prompting Vilkas to look back at her with his eyebrow raised.

"Forgot something, lass?"

"No, it's just . . . Wuunferth said that the killer wouldn't strike again until _night_. The sun came up only an hour ago. We've got an entire day to waste."

Vilkas looked up at the ceiling, seemingly thoughtful. "You've got a point. Well, we haven't spoken to a merchant in some time; your pack must be giving you quite a bit of grief. Why don't we swing by the markets and see what else we can glean from the townsfolk about what's been going on?"

Speaking of the item in question, the strap of her pack seemed bound and determined to carve a divot into her shoulder. She adjusted it, hopping slightly, which made her pack bounce against her back.

"That sounds like a _wonderful_ idea."

* * *

_Later that night . . ._

By the time Vilkas and Lisara finished all of the tasks they'd put off for weeks, but that desperately needed to be done, the sun had set. Snow had begun to fall once more, piling up on the stone walkways in beautiful, albeit cold, downy heaps. As they wandered through the city, Lisara's breath transformed from invisible puffs to swirls of vapor in front of her face. She stared down at it, slightly cross-eyed but feeling highly amused, despite the morbid circumstances.

Ahead of her, Vilkas turned to give her a droll look. "If you keep getting distracted by everything you see, lass, we're never going to get there."

Lisara broke out into a tiny smile as she tilted her head back and watched the flurries of snow drift down and past her. "What's the rush, honestly?"

At her words, Vilkas' amusement faded into admonishment. "People are dying, Lisara. And as much as we've been taking this whole journey one step at a time, we _do_ have other places to be—other obligations to carry out."

Her smile disappeared, and she looked down at Vilkas. "You're right, I'm sorry."

His only response was a slight shake of his head, and she took it to mean that, while he wanted her to focus, he wasn't necessarily _upset_ at her. After crossing his arms, he looked back up at her. "So, Wuunferth mentioned that he thought the killer would strike in the Stone Quarter, right?"

"Yes, from what I recall," Lisara replied, stepping closer to Vilkas and off of the main path. "Where is that again?"

"Here." Vilkas tapped the toe of his boot against the stone beneath them. "The marketplace is part of the Stone Quarter. Unfortunately, Wuunferth wasn't terribly specific about _where_ we could find the killer."

"Are things ever that easy?" she quipped, peering up at him from under her lashes with a wry grin.

"No, but I wish they were," he replied in a gruff voice.

Around them, the commotion of the marketplace gradually dwindled as the last patrons of the day made their way out of the plaza. The merchants themselves began closing up shop, securing their goods and packing up any expensive valuables to presumably take home with them for safekeeping. The two of them watched the hustle and bustle for a bit from beside the fire pit, reveling in the fleeting warmth in the midst of the snowstorm.

Eventually, when the square was mostly empty—with the exception of them, and a pair of townsfolk closer to the market stands—Vilkas jerked his chin towards the exit with a questioning look. They'd been in the marketplace for the past couple of hours, so it was likely a good idea to check the other half of the Stone Quarter. Patrolling the entire quarter lessened their chances of missing something, so Lisara nodded in agreement, and they made their way towards the exit.

They'd gone no more than five steps when they heard a panicked shout from behind them. When they turned towards the sound, one of the townspeople who'd been standing nearer to the stands sprinted past them, her face the epitome of sheer terror.

"What—" Vilkas sputtered, his eyes locked on the woman's receding figure.

Lisara's gaze shifted in the direction the woman had come from, and when she saw a figure looming over another one—one that was laying on the ground, immobile—her hand flew down to the hilt of her dagger. When the figure that was standing suddenly pivoted on their heel and sprinted out of the marketplace, Lisara unsheathed her dagger.

"Wait!" she shouted as she hurried after them. Behind her, she heard Vilkas curse before his heavy footfalls pounded against the stone.

They darted through the shadowed streets of Windhelm, and the now-heavier streams of snow flicked across her face like tiny pinpricks of ice. Thankfully, because it was so late, the streets were relatively empty, and Vilkas and Lisara could focus on the shadowy figure that was running away from them.

Eventually, they veered around a corner and headed up towards the residential area. Halfway up, Lisara's foot slipped on the slick, stone steps, and Vilkas caught her in his arms before she could tumble down the stairs.

"Are you all right?" he asked, hurriedly.

Without wasting time on a response, Lisara waved her hand through the air and grabbed her dagger before sprinting up the rest of the steps. By the time they reached the top of the steps, the culprit was already making their way into Hjerim.

Swearing under her breath, Lisara darted after them. They were only a foot or so away when the door to Hjerim slammed shut behind the culprit, and they skidded to a stop on the front landing.

"Damn it!" Lisara shouted as she pounded her fist against the wood. Of course, when she tried to open the door, it was locked.

By the time Vilkas came up behind her, she'd already stuck a lockpick into the keyhole, working it back and forth. A few seconds later, the tumblers clicked and she shoved the door open in a hurry before rising to her feet. Across the expansive, murky living room, the culprit was rushing towards the back of the house.

Frantic, Lisara tossed aside her dagger and pulled her bow from her back. Once she nocked an arrow, she aimed for the culprit's thigh and let loose. Vilkas drew Wuuthrad as the arrow made its mark, and the culprit collapsed to the floor with a sharp, _male_ cry of pain.

Vilkas rushed past Lisara, and she placed her bow back in its place, stooping to pick up her dagger from the floor. Following after her companion, when Vilkas turned the male over, she was surprised to find that she recognized the culprit: it was Calixto Corrium, the proprietor of the shop they'd been to just the day before.

Completely taken aback by this new revelation, Lisara reeled back. "Calixto? But you . . . we _spoke_ to you. Asked you if you knew anything about the murders . . ."

The Imperial leaned over, spitting onto the floor. "As if I would admit everything on the spot. Terribly naive, for someone who should know better."

Vilkas furrowed his brows, glaring down at Calixto. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Calixto's gaze swiveled to Vilkas briefly, before he looked back at Lisara, staring up at her. "She _knows_."

Confused, Lisara held his gaze for a few seconds, her mind racing in an attempt to figure out what he'd meant. His words echoed in her mind, over and over again, until finally, the realization that Calixto had put emphasis on the word 'knows', hit her like a sudden snowstorm on the plains of Skyrim.

The air whooshed out of her lungs, and her grip tightened on the hilt of her dagger. "You're with the Dark Brotherhood," she whispered, unable to look away from the dark depths of Calixto's eyes.

Calixto inclined his head in a mock-bow, indicating that she'd figured it out. He tried to shift his weight, but grimaced in pain when he pressed down on his right thigh. Below him, a deep crimson pool of blood was slowly spreading outwards.

"What are you doing here?" Lisara asked, her voice still incredibly quiet, and yet, in the massive, empty home, it seemed to echo.

"Waiting for _you_ ," Calixto retorted. "Astrid's been keeping tabs on you, and she knew you'd have to pass through here, or Dawnstar, to get to where you're going. She's not stupid, you know."

It felt like ice was flowing through her veins, she'd gone so cold. Listlessly, she sheathed her dagger and then crossed her arms, turning away from Calixto so she could think. Under normal circumstances, turning your back on an enemy would be idiotic, but she trusted Vilkas to watch Calixto. She knew if the Imperial tried anything, Vilkas would never let him live.

Without turning around, Lisara said, "And she sent you here to spy on me, didn't she?"

"I'm not sure I could call it _spying_ , considering you were the one who turned your back on the Brotherhood." When Calixto spit again, Vilkas nudged the wound in the other man's thigh with his boot, none-too-gently, causing Calixto to hiss in pain.

"So then she sent you here to kill me."

"She sent me to leave a message for you—a _warning_ , more like. It's far beyond your 'due date', and her gracious offer of forgiveness is now off the table."

Slowly, Lisara turned back around, her eyes immediately jumping to meet Vilkas' first. With an imperceptible nod from him, she looked back down at Calixto. "Is it now?" she murmured, subtly unsheathing her dagger once more. "In that case, perhaps I'll send a message back of my own, so Astrid knows exactly where we stand."

Calixto stared up at her with a terse expression, his lips pressed into an even thinner line than usual. When Lisara stood just front of him, she slowly crouched down, bringing her dagger forward. As she'd expected, Calixto's eyes darted down to the blade in her hand. She, too, dropped her gaze, running the tip of her finger along the blade of the dagger at an excruciatingly slow pace.

After the briefest of glances up at Vilkas, Lisara quickly leaned forward and slid the blade of the dagger across Calixto's throat. Surprised, but unable to speak now, the Imperial's eyes widened as they remained locked on Lisara's face. A curtain of blood gushed down the front of his throat, and he gasped, sputtering as he fought to breathe.

Just under a minute later, Calixto fell back against the floor, dead.

Silently, Lisara rose to her feet, wiping her dagger on her thigh. Vilkas took a step back from the body before looking at Lisara, though she refused to meet his eyes. She sheathed her dagger and turned around, heading for the door. The silence in the room seemed oppressive, choking her as the lack of air in Calixto's severed windpipe had done to him.

What if Vilkas thought less of her now? He knew what she was, yes—or rather, what she'd been. He'd seen her kill because she had to, and this situation was no different. They'd _had_ to kill Calixto to save themselves, to buy them time to finish what they needed to do so that they could deal with the Dark Brotherhood after. But while all of that was indeed true, he had every right to feel differently about her—to feel like he didn't know her at all, even though that was far from the truth.

Though she was different now than she'd been the first day they'd met, there would always be a small part of her, no matter how deep down, that changed when she killed a person. Denying that would be denying who she was, and though she'd come to terms with it . . . had Vilkas?

Her fingers splayed out on the wooden door as she moved to push it open, before she froze in place. Though her stomach felt like it was filled with lead, she forced herself to look back over her shoulder at Vilkas. He hadn't moved, still watching her from beside Calixto's body.

When she opened her mouth to speak, it was as if her words were lodged in her throat. After clearing her throat, she finally asked, "Are you coming? We need to tell Jorleif about Calixto."

A beat passed in silence, before he looked back down at the body. "Don't you want to search him for anything? Any evidence, any correspondence?" His voice was flat, almost monotone, and that drove a metaphorical dagger through Lisara's heart.

"There'd be no use. We burn our correspondence."

Vilkas' eyes remained on Calixto's body for another few seconds, before he, finally, looked away and headed towards her. When he stood in front of her, close enough to lean down and press his lips to her forehead just like he'd done that morning, he reached out and pushed the door open, brushing past her without another word.

Lisara's eyes slid shut as it felt like her world crumbled down around her. After taking a deep, shaky breath, she followed after him.

* * *

When they walked into the Palace of the Kings, they were surprised to find that the main hall was brimming with activity. Unlike the past few times they'd been there, all of the tables and chairs were filled, and the Jarl was seated atop his grand throne at the end of the room. The chatter of the room's occupants milled through the air, echoing back from the stone walls.

Surprised by the unusual liveliness—or at least, unusual to them—Vilkas and Lisara froze in the entryway as they took in their surroundings. Normally, they'd cross the hall and head down to speak to Jorleif in his quarters. Considering the hall was packed with people, there was no way for them to do so without calling attention to themselves—which wouldn't necessarily be a _bad_ thing, but it would be considered rude to pass through the room without greeting the jarl.

Vilkas didn't seem the type to have patience for politics—or so Lisara surmised from the few political interactions they'd had. That likely meant that all the talking would fall to her, and she wasn't exactly in the mood for precariously polite chit-chat at the moment.

After a few seconds, Vilkas looked down at Lisara with a frown. They didn't have many options, and the sooner they told Jorleif of their findings, the sooner they could get out of town and continue on their way. Luckily, while they were standing there trying to brew up a plan, Jorleif himself hopped up from one of the tables.

"Hey! You two! Over here!" he shouted, waving his arm through the air.

Vilkas led the way, weaving through the crowd and narrowly avoiding having mead spilled all over them more than once. Finally, they approached the table closest to the jarl, and Jorleif nodded at them in greeting.

"I was wondering when you two would return with news," he said, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Vilkas shook his head slightly, leaning in to speak to Jorleif so that the people around them wouldn't overhear. "I'm afraid it isn't _good_ news."

"Considering the circumstances, I wasn't expecting such," Jorleif replied.

Vilkas hesitated, and Lisara crouched down beside him. After a second or two, she murmured, "The killer was Calixto."

"Calixto?" Jorleif echoed, his eyes wide. "Calixto _Corrium_? The shop owner?"

Lisara nodded in response, trying to keep her expression neutral. It wouldn't do to give away the additional information they learned about Calixto and his role, especially not to someone like Jorleif.

Jorleif leaned back, tucking his chin into his chest as he frowned. "I never would've pegged Calixto for a _killer_. He—He was one of our own; a neighbor, a friend. You're _sure_?"

Lisara scoffed, unable to hold back her reaction. "We're as sure as _he_ was when he was sliding his blade into the side of an innocent, in the middle of the marketplace."

Beside her, Vilkas shook his head. "Lass," he warned under his breath.

She closed her mouth with a snap, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked away. Her irritation wasn't directed at Jorleif, necessarily, but after Vilkas' ambiguous reaction to her role in Calixto's death, everything was setting her on edge right now. Jorleif questioning their account rubbed her the wrong way, at the wrong time.

With a sigh, Jorleif leaned forward again. "Well, it is what it is, I suppose. Calixto was always a bit odd, but I would have never . . ." He trailed off, before looking up at the two of them. "You've done this city a great service, friends."

Vilkas rose to his feet and shrugged. "It was no great service. We simply wanted to help."

Lisara followed suit, adjusting her armor. "Are we free to leave the city now? I'm afraid we've other obligations that were put on hold."

Jorleif nodded briskly. "Of course, of course. I'm sure you'll find that the guards are quite a bit more amiable towards you now. Though, it's quite late. Are you sure you don't wish to stay the night and head out in the morning?"

"Yes, we're quite sure. I'm afraid our obligations cannot wait," Vilkas replied.

"Well, then . . . again, thank you."

Vilkas waved off the man's gratitude, though not unkindly. They were only a few feet from the jarl now, and in lieu of a formal greeting, Vilkas offered a deep nod in the burly man's direction. Upon his seat, Ulfric returned the gesture, his chin propped up in his hand in a surly, thoughtful sort of posture. That must have been good enough for the two men, because Vilkas faced Lisara again, draping his arm over her shoulder to lead her out of the hall.

Once they were by the door, she looked up at him and asked, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing more than respect between two warriors," Vilkas replied, pushing the door open for her.

"Mmhm."

"I wouldn't worry about it, lass. Ulfric and I have our differences, but we've always been civil. It would have been rude to simply turn our backs on him without some sort of acknowledgment. That's all it was."

Accepting his explanation, though she was still curious, they walked back out into the snowy night. The Palace of the Kings was only a short walk from Windhelm's main gates, and in what felt like no time at all, they were saddled up and ready to ride north to Ysgramor's Tomb once more. What would've been a relatively long ride from Whiterun was cut in half with their brief stint at playing mystery solvers; the remaining ride to Winterhold was only three hours.

They rode in relative silence. Whereas the quiet would've felt comfortable and normal before, now, Lisara could only worry about what was going on inside of Vilkas' head. Was he questioning their relationship? Was he unsure about Lisara and who she really was?

Was he doubting everything about them?

An hour into their ride, she was gripping Shadowmere's reins so tightly, her knuckles had gone white—and not from the cold. The air seemed thick with tension, but still, Vilkas didn't say a word. In addition to all of the things running through her thoughts, she was sure that Vilkas was also thinking about what was going to happen at Ysgramor's Tomb.

For so long, he hated the "curse" that afflicted him and his shield-siblings—and in Farkas' case, his _real_ sibling. The fact that they very well may break the curse in mere hours _had_ to have been on his mind. Normally, she'd ask him about it, about how he felt. But all things considered, she almost felt like it would be an intrusion.

So instead, they continued to ride towards their destination in silence. Finally, when the moon was at its apex in the dark, night sky, and thick fog was rolling across the ground ahead of them, the ramparts of the College of Winterhold rose up above the horizon. Ysgramor's Tomb was only a short distance to the west.

Once the horizon evened out, they came to a split in the road. The city of Winterhold was to the right, and their destination was, apparently, off to the left, though it wasn't exactly easy to tell. Dense fog coated nearly every inch of the ground, and it was nearly impossible to see the path beneath their feet. That, and it was absolutely _freezing_ this far north. She'd thought that Whiterun had been cold enough, but it was nothing in comparison to The Pale.

Thankfully, it seemed like Vilkas had been to the tomb before, because he navigated the way downhill with relative ease. Lisara simply had to keep him in her sights at all times. Eventually, he came to a stop and dismounted, surprising her. After he had hitched his mount's reins to a post, he ambled back towards her. Once he was standing immediately beside Shadowmere, he held his hand out to her.

When a second or two passed and she still hadn't moved, he asked, "Well? Are you coming?"

"Where exactly are we going? I don't see the tomb anywhere."

Vilkas quirked a thick brow, and that's when Lisara realized she could hear the sound of waves lapping against the shore. They must've ridden all the way down to the coastline. Confused, but trusting Vilkas' directions, she shifted her reins to one hand and swung her leg over the saddle, placing her other hand in his.

After all, he wouldn't have led them to a dead end, right?

Once Shadowmere was also secured to the post, Lisara whispered a fond temporary farewell to her mount while Vilkas gathered their packs. Once he had them in hand, he headed towards the sound of the waves. Lisara narrowed her eyes at his receding back, but followed after him regardless of her doubts.

True to her guess, a small dinghy awaited them on the shore, bobbing up and down gently with each wave of the water. Without a word of explanation, Vilkas tossed their bags into the boat and clambered in, settling down on the far bench.

Lisara crossed her arms over her chest, both cold and wary. "We're not . . . taking _this_ , are we?"

"The boat I'm currently sitting in? Yes, lass, we are."

"But the water has to be freezing cold."

"I wager it is," he deadpanned, his expression neutral.

"What if we capsize and fall in?" Lisara questioned, her voice rising to a near squeak with panic.

"I'm not going to tip us over, lass. For Talos' sake, just get in!" He then quirked an eyebrow at her. "Or can you not swim?"

"Of course I can _swim_. I'm worried about freezing to death in the water, not drowning."

Vilkas sighed, sounding exasperated. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he leaned over and braced himself on his knee with his hand. "If you fall into the water, I will pull you out. I won't tip us over. We're just heading over there." He turned and pointed to the opposite shoreline, off in the distance. "It won't take us more than perhaps fifteen minutes to cross."

When she glared at him, he quipped, "Once you get into the boat, that is."

Lisara stood there, staring at the tiny, run-down boat. Now that Vilkas was sitting in it, it had sunk a bit into the water with his weight. Was it really supposed to be able to hold the both of them? When a few more seconds ticked by and she still hadn't moved, Vilkas sighed again.

"If you're really that worried, I can go on without you. We'll just meet back up in Winterhold when we're finished."

"No!" Lisara took a step forward. "No, I want to go with you. I just . . ."

She took a deep breath, letting her eyes slide shut for a brief moment. Vilkas had asked if she could swim, and though she hadn't lied, she had no desire to swim in _this_ particular bed of water. It was likely beyond ice-cold, and it was so dark, that the water looked pitch black. Of course she trusted Vilkas, but . . . what if something happened? What if they were thrown under the surface and she couldn't find her bearings?

Sensing her panic threatening to rise up and overtake her, she took another deep breath through her nose. Vilkas' fingers brushed against her own, and she jumped, startled. When she looked down at him in surprise, he offered the tiniest, reassuring smile.

"I won't let you fall in, lass. I promise," he murmured.

Finally, she conceded with a reluctant sigh and climbed into the boat, sitting opposite from him. Once she was settled and had her hands tucked under her thighs for warmth, she nodded at him that she was ready. He shook his head at her, before reaching around and pulling his pelt off. Leaning forward, he draped it over her shoulders and clipped it at the front.

Grateful, she pulled it tighter around her. "Thank you."

"You really should invest in one of your own," he teased, picking up the oars and lifting them up and over the edge of the boat.

Only a few seconds later, they were officially on the last leg of their journey to Ysgramor's Tomb. True to Vilkas' word—and likely thanks to his powerful arms—they reached the other side rather quickly. Once the bottom of their boat hit the sand, Vilkas launched himself over the edge and into the water. At first, Lisara was concerned, but he simply pulled the boat, and her, farther up onto the sand. As soon as the boat was beached, he gestured for her to join him on land.

Quickly, she grabbed their bags and hopped down. He took his from her, opting to carry it in his hand since Wuuthrad was in the way. Up ahead, the path was dark. Snow flurries surrounded them, making it somewhat difficult to see. That, in addition with the biting, sharp wind, made for less than ideal traveling conditions.

Lisara could only hope that the tomb wasn't too far ahead.

Vilkas took the lead, considering he was the only one who knew where he was going. Not long after they'd rounded a bend, the ground began to rise, leading up to a domed mound a few feet ahead. When the dirt beneath their feet gave way to hard stone, the terrain leveled out. A huge crater in the ground loomed before them, covered in snow and deeper than any other crypt she'd seen yet; they'd reached Ysgramor's Tomb.

A set of rickety wooden stairs led the way down to the entrance, which was flanked by lit braziers. The flames struggled to stay afire in the strong wind, and Lisara was surprised by the fact that they were lit at all. Farkas and Aela must've done so, in anticipation of hers and Vilkas' imminent arrival.

After they reached the bottom, Vilkas pushed open the heavy, ornate stone door and led the way into the tomb itself. The second he pushed the door shut behind her, the harsh bite of the frigid wind immediately disappeared, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Together, they ambled down the brightly lit path and into the antechamber, where Farkas and Aela were waiting for them.

The two of them rose to their feet when Vilkas and Lisara entered the room. Farkas stepped forward with a grim expression, clapping his twin on the back with relief when they stood in front of one another.

"I was worried that it took you so long to show, brother."

Vilkas grunted, returning the gesture. "Circumstances were beyond our control. The guards wouldn't let us follow you two out because of a murder that had occurred just before, apparently."

Aela frowned, her brows cinching in confusion. "I don't recall hearing anything about that on our way out."

"It happened _just_ before," Lisara piped up. "We ended up getting stuck behind and helping the guards out—mostly so they'd let us leave."

"Really?" Aela bit back. "Not out of the goodness of your hearts?"

Lisara pressed her lips into a thin line, but before she could retort, Vilkas spoke. "Despite the setback, we're here now. Remember to be cautious inside the tomb. Not only does Ysgramor reside here, but also his most trusted generals."

Being the only one unfamiliar with Nordic history and legends, Lisara asked, "Why exactly do we need to be cautious?"

"Well," Farkas began, stepping closer. "They're the original Companions. I'd imagine they're expecting us, which means we'll have to pass their tests. They want to be sure we're worthy of passing through."

After nodding, Lisara shifted her gaze to the grand statue of Ysgramor that rested atop the stone pedestal ahead. His regal stance, fierce and yet somehow welcoming, exuded leadership and confidence. It was easy to see why the Companions admired him so.

A few seconds passed, and she looked back down at Vilkas. "So . . . how do we get inside?"

He studied her for a moment, before ascending the steps and approaching the statue. With reference, he bowed his head and kept it down, seemingly murmuring under his breath. Once he was finished, he reached over his back and pulled Wuuthrad from its strap. After inspecting the newly forged, sharp edge of the axe, he then hoisted it up, sliding the pole of the weapon through the open receptacles in Ysgramor's hands. As soon as the weapon was in place, the sound of stone grating against stone echoed throughout the chamber; the door behind Ysgramor had slid open, revealing the dark, damp hallway that led to the next room.

When the dust settled and the room fell silent once more, the four Companions looked at one another with trepidation and awe. Aela was the first to step forward, heading into the darkness with little hesitation. The remaining three watched her go, but none of them moved to follow her just yet.

Finally, a few seconds later, Vilkas took a step forward. He hadn't gone very far when he faced Lisara again, with a terse expression on his face. They stared into one another's eyes, all previous tension and worries regarding the Dark Brotherhood forgotten for the moment. Right now, all that mattered was breaking this curse and freeing Vilkas from the confines and restrictions of something he had never asked for.

Without a word, he reached out to her, holding his hand palm-up in an unspoken invitation. She looked down at his proffered hand, and gently slid her palm against his, finding comfort in the rough calluses of his skin.

"Let's go break us a curse," Lisara whispered, tentatively smiling up at him. They'd promised to do this together, and that's exactly what would happen.

Vilkas returned the gesture before turning around again, pulling her after him. "Aye, lass."

The time had finally come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first things first, I felt extremely bad about how long this took to get out, so I opted to skip having it beta'd in order to get it out to you guys sooner. Hopefully it isn't riddled with errors :x I did, of course, read over it myself a few times, but it's inevitable that I'd miss things.
> 
> Of course, life never works out according to plan. I wanted to have a chapter out significantly earlier in my break between semesters (I go back the 9th of January), but here we are, it's the 30th, and it's barely being posted. I know I always say this, but I'm sorry for how long it's taken!
> 
> Credit is due where it's deserved: much thanks to Order and Chaos for the suggestion of Calixto's role in this chapter. It worked out perfectly with the small segue in their journey, and I couldn't have planned it better myself :P
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading this - I couldn't ask for more loyal, wonderful followers, and I appreciate your guys' patience more than I can put into words!
> 
> Hopefully I'll see you guys again sooner rather than later! Until next time!


	20. The End of a Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally save these for the end, but I felt like prefacing this chapter with a note was important: I've meshed the end of Glory of the Dead with Purity (for Vilkas only, not Farkas) in this chapter. One, because it made more sense instead of having them return another time, and also because we've been stuck on this part of the timeline for far longer than I originally planned. I wanted Vilkas and Lisara to move on to bigger and better things ;) Okay, enough about that. See you guys at the end!

Ysgramor's Tomb was the quintessential Nordic crypt. It was cold, damp, and a little  _too_  quiet. The air felt charged with a sort of tension that Lisara had come to expect from places of this sort by now—tension that had them all on edge, weapons unsheathed and ready to strike.

The four of them made their way down the tunnel in relative silence, save for the occasional clink of armor or boot shuffling against dirt. It was equal parts due to respect for the dead, but also trying to mitigate their presence as much as possible. Tombs usually meant draugr—and Sithis knows what else—and the less they disturbed, the better.

It became significantly colder the farther they descended into the tomb. At the bottom of the second landing, Lisara shivered, forever cursing that the layers of armor she wore never seemed to be enough for the climate of Skyrim. She pulled Vilkas' pelt tighter around her shoulders, and he glanced back at her in what seemed like amusement—likely because it seemed like she wore the damn thing more than he did at this point.

 _He probably thinks I might as well keep it,_ she mused _._

Mist curled in tendrils along the stone floor, undulating across their path like it had a life of its own. It pooled in the crevices of the cavern wall, collected underneath their feet, dispersing around their boots with every step. Spongy moss coated the packed dirt domed above them, and when she placed her hand against the wall, she could feel the chilled moisture even through her leather gloves.

Oddly enough, the tomb reminded her of Sanctuary.

It had been so long since she'd thought of Sanctuary that she was surprised it had even popped into her head at all. It had been her home in every sense of the word, except for the most important one: she'd never  _felt_  at home there. Within its stone and dirt walls—walls not unlike the ones that surrounded her now—she'd never been able to relax or feel comfortable. She'd always felt on edge there, unable to take off her mask that hid who she really was underneath.

None of her "siblings" had ever truly known her. They only knew  _of_  Lisara Garnesier, the Breton girl with no family—a story all too common in the Dark Brotherhood. Elias had been the last person to really see who she was—her dreams and aspirations, the things that made her laugh and smile—and he'd been gone for years.

Strange, how things changed in only a few months' time.

She never thought she'd let anyone else in again after her brother had left her behind. Yet, here she was, traveling with a group of people who already knew her far better than any of her siblings in the Dark Brotherhood, and her one real sibling, ever had.

And then there was Vilkas.

Lisara's gaze snapped up, focusing on the back of his head. The ends of his chestnut hair swished against the nape of his neck every time he turned, and every glance of his profile had her appreciating just how handsome he really was. Looks weren't everything, and she knew that, but then there was his kindness, his understanding for those who had struggled in life as he had; there was his boundless courage, and incredible strength, and a fond smile teased at the corners of her lips. It was the combination of all these things that made her heart beat faster every time she looked at him.

By the Nine, she was ridiculously infatuated with him—and came to the realization in a  _tomb_  no less. A snort at her own timing escaped her, and Vilkas glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow. She waved him off, not wanting to bother with an explanation.

_Talk about romantic, Lisara._

She tightened her grip on her dagger, trying to focus once more, and followed after Vilkas and Aela, with Farkas bringing up the rear.

Deeper and deeper into the tomb they went, their only obstacles the occasional skeever. Eventually, the tunnel widened, and on either side of them, carvings that resembled avian predators marked the entrance to the next room. A light breeze drifted up the steps and ruffled the loose bangs hanging in front of her face. With a annoyed huff, she blew them out of her view and shifted her daggers to the front of her body.

The tunnel transformed into an expansive room with curved, stone columns that stretched from floor to ceiling, though the ceiling itself wasn't terribly high up. A set of double wooden doors sat directly across from them, flanked by the same statues they'd just passed. Instead of heading straight for the door, Aela shifted to the side, prompting Vilkas and Lisara to move in the opposite direction. When Farkas joined Aela, she jerked her head towards the door on the other side of the room with a frown on her face.

"A good set-up for a trap," she commented, lowering her bow to rest at her hips.

Farkas and Vilkas hummed in unison, and Lisara shook her head in amusement. Though they were identical in appearance, they were such different people that sometimes she forgot they were twins—until they did things like that.

Before anyone had a chance to speak, the hairs on the back of Lisara's neck raised, seemingly unbidden. Little pinpricks scattered across her arms and she instinctively gripped her daggers tighter, glancing around for whatever it was that had put her body on edge before she could physically see the threat.

Apparently, Aela had also felt the change in the atmosphere. The huntress lifted her bow, ready to fire at their unseen enemy as she muttered, "Huh?"

A disjointed, hollow voice echoed through the room—Lisara couldn't make out what the voice had said—and Farkas lifted his sword into the air as a challenge. "Over here!"

Vilkas side-stepped as he drew his greatsword from his hip, blocking Lisara from any immediate danger. Since Wuuthrad had been strapped to his back, he'd had to move his scabbard elsewhere, and she was glad he'd remembered to bring it at all. An irritated scoff escaped her at his overprotective nature; she appreciated the gesture, but he should know better than anyone else that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Farkas and Aela sprinted to the left side of the room, but before Vilkas and Lisara could move to join them, a blast of frigid air swept over them from their right, and another shiver traveled up Lisara's spine.

When they faced the direction of the draft, a frightened gasp escaped Lisara. A pale blue, nearly translucent shadow of a man stepped out from a stone coffin that was leaning against the far wall. Sweat dampened her palms underneath her gloves, but she lifted her daggers with a grim, determined set to her mouth. If she could take down draugr, then a spirit couldn't be much different, could it?

Briefly, she wondered if physical weapons could even  _do_  any harm against a spectral enemy, but then Vilkas lunged forward with a fierce cry, bringing his greatsword down in a heavy blow. Just like any other enemy that was standing in front of them, his blade clattered against metal armor, sending the ghost staggering back.

"Well, that answers that," Lisara muttered under her breath.

With the window that Vilkas had just provided, she feinted right before darting forward, bringing her daggers up as she twirled in a graceful pirouette. Both of her blades made contact, eliciting a pained grunt from the ghost—though the mechanics of that still left her confused.

In a way that ultimately proved how good a team they now made, Lisara slid to her right after her attack, and Vilkas edged back in to take her place without hesitation. With a menacing glare on his face, he drove his weapon into the ghost's chest. A strangled cry escaped the spirit, fizzling out into no more than an echo as its form dissipated into the air.

The second they'd sheathed their weapons, Farkas and Aela jogged over to join them. Farkas clapped his brother on the back, forcing air out of Vilkas' lungs in a cough. Vilkas glared over at his twin as Farkas guffawed. "Good enough, eh?"

Lisara crossed her arms underneath Vilkas' pelt for warmth, looking over at Aela as she remarked, "I'd like to note that fighting with a bag of heads tied to your belt isn't exactly easy." When no one responded, she rolled her eyes. "So, those were the ghosts of the Companions that you spoke about?"

"This  _is_  Ysgramor's Tomb," Aela explained with a shrug. "I'm not surprised these spirits really did appear."

Aela led the way into the next room, and. Lisara trailed after the huntress, gaze focused on the ground in deep thought. If the spirits of these long-dead Companions still lingered in the tomb, what was to become of Vilkas after he passed? Of Farkas? Of Aela?

Were they doomed to haunt the land in the same way?

Vilkas had mentioned that aspect of the curse when he'd first told her about it, but she recalled Kodlak mentioning something about Hircine's "hunting grounds". What exactly did that entail?

A frown marred her features. Since she'd found out about the curse, it had been obvious that Vilkas felt vastly different about it than Aela, or even Farkas. Aela was very outspoken about the way she considered the curse to be a gift. Farkas seemed . . . more or less ambivalent about the curse, choosing to live with it because he had to, rather than fight his nature like his twin. But if this was even a hint of the fate the Circle had to look forward to upon death, she didn't blame Vilkas in the slightest for wanting a cure.

Then again, she never had. If he wanted to rid himself of the curse, she trusted his reasons enough to help him do exactly that.

A set of narrow steps, carved into the stone beneath their feet, led them lower into the crypt. This room was more expansive than any they'd passed through thus far, lending an almost cavernous feel to the space. Three stone caskets were in the room, propped up on their ends like grave markers above ground. One sat in the middle, flanked on either side by ceremonial tables. The other two rested against the back wall, almost framing the one in the center. Whoever had been buried there had likely been important. Brass braziers rested atop the caskets with low flames burning within their domed sides, throwing shadows onto the walls around them.

Aela led them to the center of the room, pausing in front of the lone casket in the center of the room. She stared up at it in silence, her arms crossed over her chest. Farkas and Vilkas remained quiet as well, looking around the room with what felt like . . . reverence. Though Lisara couldn't empathize, she could certainly imagine how they must feel. These halls were filled with the remains of their predecessors, of great Nord heroes of legend. If she had lived and breathed as a Companion, or been a Nord herself, she imagined she'd be filled with awe as well.

They'd been standing still for no more than a few seconds when the temperature suddenly plummeted, just like it had in the last room. In unison, the four of them armed themselves and took a preemptive step backwards, putting distance between themselves and the coffin. Only two steps later, a spirit emerged from the stone, traveling through it as if it wasn't even there. It paused once it was fully formed, inspecting the group with a blank expression. Then again, Lisara wasn't sure ghosts could even . . . feel emotions after death.

With unspoken agreement, Farkas and Aela beelined for the two spirits that had also emerged from the coffins in the back of the room. Vilkas drew his blade, staring at the ghost directly in front of them. It rose to his silent challenge, sweeping towards them with a spectral blade of its own raised to attack. A single ghost posed little problem for Vilkas, so Lisara circled around them, daggers in-hand, ready to step in if need be.

She was standing beside the ceremonial table, on the opposite side of the steps, when she saw another spirit move towards Vilkas from the shadows. It was behind him, and his attention was fully focused on the spirit he was currently fighting against. Her surprised gasp was quickly swallowed by the sounds of battle that filled the room, and she realized with panic that she wouldn't be able to reach Vilkas in time—the ghost would get to him first.

Of course, this was the one, rare time, that she'd left her bow strapped to Shadowmere's saddle. With having to carry the hefty bag filled with witch heads, it seemed prudent to lighten her usual load as much as possible. However, that made taking out the ghost from where she stood now completely impossible. As the spirit raised its sword to swing at Vilkas, she let out a desperate cry and threw her dagger at the ghost.

Her weapons weren't made for throwing; they were heavy, balanced differently than throwing knives, and as such, the dagger wobbled end-over-end through the air until it glanced off the spirit's arm instead of embedding into the spirit itself. Still, it served as a distraction, and Lisara took advantage of the opportunity, sprinting towards the enemy.

Vilkas finished off the spirit he'd been battling as she rushed past, and his eyes followed after her, filled with confusion. When she was only a few steps away from the ghost, she slid along the floor, slicing upwards and into the back of the spirit's right knee. It howled in pain, buckling, and its other knee slammed into the floor. Springing to her feet, she pivoted and drove the dagger into the flesh between the spirit's neck and shoulder. With another guttural cry, it then disappeared back into the ether.

Lisara straightened, chest heaving as she looked up and met Vilkas' eyes. He met her gaze with an expression that nearly made her melt. It was filled with such trust, and his pale eyes shone with an unspoken tenderness and fondness that she'd rarely seen before. In fact, she could only think of one other time he'd looked at her like that, and things had been significantly less . . . morbid, then.

A tiny smile graced the corners of her lips, and after tilting his head in a grateful nod, Vilkas returned the gesture. Together, they made their way towards Aela and Farkas at the back of the room. It appeared that they'd easily dispatched their foes, and the two of them were rifling through the contents of the shelves pushed up against the walls. When Vilkas and Lisara neared, Aela faced them and jerked her head towards the archway that led out of the room on the far side.

"Shall we?"

Vilkas grunted before leading the way. "Let's get this over with."

The next room was spacious and lined with coffins, much like the first they'd stumbled upon. A few more spirits emerged from beneath the lids, but the group expected them this time around and it took little effort to dispel them. On the other end of the hall, where the tunnel to the next area led on, thick, white cobwebs covered every inch of the stone walls. As they made their way towards the tunnel, Farkas came to an abrupt stop behind them.

With a short sigh, he stated, "I . . . can't go any further."

Aela and Vilkas faced him with mirrored expressions of exasperation. Vilkas threw in a shake of his head as he chided, "Farkas."

"No, I won't do it." The burlier brother crossed his arms over his massive chest, jutting his chin up into the air like a petulant child.

"Wait, why can't you go on?" Lisara asked, looking up at Farkas with a quirked brow.

He met her gaze, pale eyes blazing with determination. "Someone has to stay behind and watch the rear."

Aela snorted. "It's because he's afraid of spiders," she explained, gesturing to the many cobwebs ahead of them.

Lisara followed the huntress' cue, and looked back at Farkas with a wry grin. "So am I."

Of course, a tiny little Breton girl being afraid of spiders was almost to be expected. A gigantic, undeniably  _strong_  Nord like Farkas? That was a bit . . . unexpected. But everyone had their fears and she supposed abnormally large spiders was a logical one for anyone, really.

"Yeah, but . . . I'm . . . I  _really_  don't like them," Farkas mumbled. "Something about the sound they make when they—" He broke off with a shudder, dropping his gaze to the ground.

"If you'd rather stay here, Farkas, no one is going to stop you," Lisara reassured him.

Vilkas, however, took a step closer to his brother, his features twisted into a deep frown. "You can only break your curse if you come with us, brother."

Farkas met his twin's gaze with ambivalence. "I know. And I . . . I think that's what I want, but . . . I'm not as sure as you—or even Aela, for that matter."

Aela crossed her arms, a defiant expression on  _her_  face. "I'm not breaking mine."

"I know that," Farkas added. "I meant that you're so  _sure_  about your decision."

"Oh." Conversation over—at least, for her—Aela turned away from the group and meandered over to the cobweb-covered exit, pulling a small dagger out of her boot to slash at the silky threads.

Again, Vilkas shook his head. "Farkas," he began, until Farkas cut him off with a sharp tsk.

"If I decide I want to, I can always come back later."

They stared into one another's eyes for a few seconds, the air thick with unspoken tension. Lisara had a sibling, yes, but Elias had been out of her life for such a long time that she couldn't even begin to imagine what Vilkas and Farkas were feeling right now. Vilkas, she was sure, wanted his brother to break his curse, to be free with him. But if it wasn't truly what Farkas wanted, was it in Vilkas' rights to push his brother?

Hesitant to interrupt, Lisara took a tentative step forward. Gently, she reached up and laid a hand on Vilkas shoulder. He faced her, his brows low over his eyes. "If he wants to stay, Vilkas, maybe you should let him," she murmured.

"But—"

"It's  _his_  choice, just like breaking your curse is yours."

Vilkas stared down at her, his eyes shifting back and forth as she could physically see him thinking it through. Finally, he let out a sigh and faced his brother again. "Fine. If that is what you want, Farkas."

Farkas nodded. "Go on. Aela's already gone into the next room."

As if coming back into the present, the sounds of battle drifted back into Lisara's notice. She glanced over her shoulder, and the huntress was indeed no longer in the room with them. Aela's verbal taunts and the quick whoosh of arrows flying through the air called to them, and with one last nod to Farkas, she and Vilkas moved on.

By the time they caught up to Aela, she'd already dispatched four spiders. As they passed the most recent remains, pincers still snapping, Vilkas kicked one of the many legs in disgust.

"Frostbites are the worst."

Lisara followed him out of the room, shooting an amused glance at his back. "And why is that?"

"They're just so damned large. And their venom is particularly potent—stings for hours, and I swear your joints are stiff for the rest of the day."

"You do know they make antidotes, don't you?"

"Yes, lass, I do," he replied in a dry tone. "But when you're out in the field, it's difficult to find a convenient merchant walking past who just so happens to have some."

A chuckle escaped her. "Fair enough."

Aela was waiting for them in the next room, bow held at the ready. "I already took care of another one of those spirits. Seems like there's more than enough for all of us in this tomb."

"Spiders, spirits," Lisara noted. "Did we really think this was going to be easy?"

To her surprise, that earned her a snort from the huntress. "No, I suppose not. Come on."

More than a handful of spirits and tunnels later, they finally emerged into an enormous room with the highest ceiling yet—a surprise, considering they'd moved continually farther down into the tomb. A sunken pedestal rested in the center of the room, holding a brazier that was filled with blue flames. The change in the air alone hinted that this was their destination, and the three of them approached the pedestal with careful steps.

Behind the flames stood a specter with a strangely familiar silhouette. When they were but a few steps away, Aela and Vilkas gasped in unison.

"Kodlak?" Vilkas questioned, his voice hopeful.

The spirit faced Vilkas, and inclined his head in what appeared to be a nod. "Greetings, shield-brother."

"Kodlak, is that . . . really you?" Aela breathed.

If spirits could chuckle, then whatever dry sound emerged from Kodlak next would surely be one. "Of course it is. My fellow Harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here, trying to evade Hircine."

His voice echoed through the room, bouncing back to them and making it seem as if his true presence were bigger than the spirit in front of them. At the sound of his familiar, warm tone, Vilkas and Aela shifted in place, seemingly uncomfortable. Lisara supposed that made sense. It was . . . equal parts pleasant and  _un_ pleasant to hear his voice again—a reminder that he was indeed gone, but also of the great man he had been while still alive.

"Er," Lisara began, " _can_  you evade a daedric prince? And Kodlak . . . there's no one else here."

The three of them glanced around the room as if to prove her point, and Kodlak explained, "You see only me because your heart  _knows_  only me as the Companions' leader." Another dry laugh escaped the former Harbinger, before he added, "I'd wager old Vignar could see half a dozen of my predecessors."

 _Did he just crack a joke?_  Lisara mused. Even in death, Kodlak knew how to break the tension.

With a somber air, Kodlak continued, "I see them all. The ones in Sovngarde, and the ones trapped with me in Hircine's realm."

Briefly, Vilkas dropped his head, his chin brushing against his chestplate. Lisara could practically feel the waves of sorrow and regret seeping from him. She knew he still blamed himself for Kodlak's death, and that breaking the former Harbinger's curse was one of the small ways he was trying to make up for it. As much as she wanted to comfort him, she knew it would do little at the moment, and it wasn't until Kodlak spoke again that he looked back up.

"And they see you. You've brought honor to the name of the Companions. We won't soon forget it."

At his mentor's words, Vilkas clenched his jaw, causing the muscle in his cheek to tighten. "We can still try and cure you. That's why we're here."

"Is it now? I . . . can only hope that you're right. If you still have the witches' heads, throw one into the fire. It will release their magic—at least, for me—and we can see if it is possible."

Vilkas turned, gesturing for Lisara to step forward. As she approached the brazier, she untied the hefty bag from her belt and tossed it onto the ground. When it landed with a disgusting squelch, she cringed. Quickly, Vilkas peeled open the sack and grimaced when the rancid smell of decay wafted up to him. With pursed lips, he reached in and grabbed one of the heads by the hair before hastily tossing it into the flames.

Almost immediately, Kodlak's spirit buckled over. He grabbed at his head, almost as if he were in pain, and trying to shake something out of his thoughts. When he bent over even more, a red spirit in the shape of a wolf appeared to grow out of his body with a resounding howl.

All three of them dropped into battle stance, backing away from Kodlak's spirit with slow steps. When the wolf was fully formed, it charged for Aela without warning. The huntress managed to draw her dagger at the last second, slicing at the wolf's immaterial form. With a pained bark, it fell back, circling the group with lifelike intensity.

Aela did not wait for the wolf to move again. She raised her bow and quickly fired an arrow at the spirit, causing it to leap to the side with an echoing snarl. Lisara jerked her chin to the right, and taking her cue, Vilkas flanked the wolf. Behind them, the spirit that took on Kodlak's human form circled the pseudo-battlefield, watching them with crossed arms.

When another one of Aela's arrows landed true, Vilkas dove in and sliced upwards with his greatsword. The wolf stumbled, looking up at Vilkas with what Lisara suspected would've been wide eyes, filled with fear— _if_  it had been real. She took the newfound opportunity to feint closer, stabbing into the wolf's other side with one of her daggers, which earned her another howl. As soon as she rolled out of the way, Aela fired one final arrow, and the wolf spirit disappeared.

A moment of silence fell over the group as they fought to catch their breaths. The three of them met up in front of Kodlak's spirit, who opened his arms as if to welcome them back. "And so, with the death of my beast spirit, so is the beast inside me slain. I thank you for this gift, though the other Harbingers remain trapped by Hircine. Perhaps from Sovngarde, the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds. It would be a battle of such triumph."

Lisara hid a smile behind her hand. Again, even in death, Kodlak was no different from the Harbinger she'd barely gotten the chance to know. Like so many other Nord warriors, he dreamed of glory and a good fight. It seemed that had not changed now that he'd joined the other Harbingers of the past.

With what sounded like a wistful sigh, Kodlak added, "Perhaps someday, you will join us in that fight. But for now, return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your victory, and lead the Companions to further glory."

They only had time to nod in acceptance of his instruction before his spirit dissipated into thin air. Another moment of silence fell over them as Aela and Vilkas paid their own respects to their former Harbinger. Eventually, Aela looked at Vilkas with unreadable expression.

"Did I hear that right? Did he name  _you_  as Harbinger?"

Vilkas opened his mouth to speak, but when he didn't seem to be able to form any words, he simply closed his mouth again. At his silence, Aela shook her head ever-so-slightly.

"We've done what we came here to do. I'll return to Farkas and await you two there. We'll talk about this more back at Jorrvaskr." She headed for the exit, but before she left the room, she faced Vilkas once more. "You  _are_ still getting rid of your own beast spirit, are you not, Vilkas?"

"Aye, I am," he replied with a firm nod.

She nodded, though her expression remained as blank as before. Without another word, she walked out of the room.

Vilkas stared at the archway where she'd stood, his own expression neutral. Lisara watched him with slightly cinched brows, waiting for him to speak. It had never been a secret that a cure was what he wanted—or at least, it hadn't after his  _curse_  was no longer a secret. Yet, now that they were here and Kodlak had been cured, the proof that the curse was  _indeed_  breakable, he seemed . . . hesitant.

"Vilkas?" Lisara murmured, sidling up to him.

"Hm?" He looked down at her, his eyes widened slightly—almost as if he'd forgotten she was still there with him.

"Are you ready?"

A beat passed before he spoke again. "Aye, lass, I am."

He brushed past her, heading for the brazier once more. No more words were exchanged, and he didn't look back at her again. Instead, he reached into the bag and drew out the other witch head. This time, instead of tossing it into the flames right away, he stood still, watching the cerulean flames as they licked at the air.

Lisara opened her mouth to say something, but decided not to at the last second. She closed her mouth with a snap and stared at the back of his head, filled with concern. This curse had always been a touchy subject for him. Now that he was faced with the decision, the opportunity, to leave it behind for good, she sensed that he needed a moment alone, not to be peppered with questions.

Folding her hands in front of her, she stood slightly behind and to his side, waiting for him to signal that he was finally ready. If support was what he needed, she was happy to give that to him.

Sooner than she'd expected, a few minutes later, Vilkas threw the witch head into the fire. As the flames stretched upwards, flaring a brighter blue than before, Lisara drew her daggers and backed away from Vilkas as they'd done with Kodlak's spirit.

He, too, drew his sword, though he didn't move from where he stood. A few seconds later, he grunted in pain, bending over at the waist. Though she knew this had happened with Kodlak, she couldn't help darting forward with her hand outstretched.

"No," he interrupted her, holding his hand out. She skidded to a stop as he said, "I'm fine. Let it happen."

With a disgruntled huff, Lisara stepped back, tightening her grip on her dagger as they both waited for his wolf spirit to make its appearance. Another pained groan escaped Vilkas and she edged the tiniest bit closer, despite his advice to do the opposite. When he fell to his knees a moment later, she surged forward, unable to stop herself this time.

Before she could reach him, a massive, transparent red silhouette stretched upwards from Vilkas' spine. It started out humanoid, but when it looked up towards the ceiling, it's face elongated into the snout of a wolf. Long arms snapped in to form shorter ones, and the spirit's hands then morphed into paws. With a final howl, it leapt forth from Vilkas' body and paused in front of him, facing Lisara with a lowered head.

To her surprise, it didn't immediately attack like Kodlak's had. Instead, it stood there, watching her with ears flattened back against its head. When Vilkas was back on his feet, he walked over to join her, staring at his beast spirit in confusion.

"Why isn't it attacking?" he questioned in a low voice.

"I'm . . . not sure. It's almost as if it—as if it recognizes me, as insane as that may sound."

He looked over at her sharply, his eyes narrowed. "Recognizes you?"

"There was that time we . . . tried to be intimate, but you had to stop because the beast blood threatened to take over. Do you remember? Perhaps it was more present then than we thought, and . . . recognizes me somehow?"

That seemed to leave Vilkas feeling unsettled. He looked back at the wolf spirit with tight lips, raising his blade in front of him with both hands tight around the hilt. "Be that as it may, we have to kill it to break the curse."

As if the spirit understood Vilkas' words, it finally raised its head before crouching into a position more akin to the first spirit. Its hackles raised, and a low snarl bit through the air. It was time to free Vilkas from this, and the spirit knew it, too.

Without any further hesitation, Vilkas charged forward with a loud battle cry, swinging his sword down at the spirit. It dodged easily, circling around the space opposite from Vilkas. Lisara raised her daggers as well, but unlike Vilkas, she  _did_  hesitate to attack. It wasn't that she was afraid—more so that it almost felt like an intrusion to join the battle. Yes, this was an actual, physical battle, but Vilkas had also warred with this spirit in his mind and soul for so many years. He wanted desperately to break this curse, and though she said she'd help, it felt like something he should do on his own, his own demon to confront.

Did she help? Or did she stand by and let him gain this victory on his own?

Decision made, she stepped back from the battle, though she didn't sheath her weapons in case Vilkas did end up needing her. He didn't seem to notice that she'd given the battle over to him, instead remaining focused solely on the wolf spirit. It, too, seemed to only see Vilkas, now that the first official blow had been rendered.

A few seconds later, it darted forward on its legs and nipped at Vilkas. He countered with an upward swipe of his blade, nicking the wolf on the side of its neck. A whimper echoed through the room, and Lisara found herself feeling oddly sorry for the spirit. It had never been welcomed by Vilkas, and was now being physically banished from its "host", and yet, it seemed . . . saddened by that. Unlike Kodlak's spirit, which had been fierce and unyielding, Vilkas' seemed almost as if it didn't  _want_  to fight.

From the uncharacteristically slow pace that Vilkas was fighting at, it was as if he felt the same way as his beast spirit. When a few more minutes had gone by and neither one of them had landed a decent blow, Lisara finally decided to pipe up.

"Vilkas, if you don't  _try_ , you'll never best him."

Both Vilkas and the wolf turned to her, and if she hadn't understood the direness of the situation, she might've laughed at how in-tune they still were with one another. Vilkas met her gaze for a moment, before he seemed to sigh in resignation, facing the wolf once more.

As if they shared an unspoken promise, Vilkas nodded before leaping forward. His blade swung down as it had before, but this time, it was obvious he put everything he had into the attack. His shoulders hunched with effort, and a loud grunt escaped him at the sheer force of his swing. The wolf tried to dodge, but hadn't moved quickly enough, and Vilkas' blade sliced into the wolf's side. It yelped, stumbling away from Vilkas before staggering back to all four paws once more.

Vilkas didn't give it a chance to fully recover, twirling around and bringing his blade up diagonally. It caught the wolf in the same place he'd hit prior, and the wolf fell to the ground with a resounding whine.

Sensing the battle was over, Lisara approached Vilkas from behind, making sure that her steps were easily audible so she didn't catch him off-guard. Briefly, he glanced at her before looking down at the wolf again. It was clear that the wolf was spent; his form, though transparent before, was now quickly fading, and it had laid its head down against the stone.

They crouched down beside it, and though Lisara couldn't explain why she did it, she reached out to comfort the wolf in its final moments. She'd expected to feel nothing, and was surprised when her fingers grazed what felt slightly like real fur. It was cold to the touch, and not quite as solid—almost like she was feeling it through a pool of water, airy and floating instead of being able to run her fingers fully through the downy strands.

Again, the wolf whined, and Vilkas reached out to it as well. The wolf lifted his head at Vilkas' touch, placing its snout in Vilkas' palm ever-so-briefly. With a slight quirk of his lips, Vilkas murmured, "Rest, friend."

With that, the wolf put its head down once more and faded away completely.

Vilkas let his hand fall, draping his arm across his broad thigh. His gaze remained locked on where the wolf spirit had lain, his expression blank. Without a word, Lisara placed her hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath before reaching up and curling his fingers around her hand, tilting his head towards her. Then, he let go and rose to his feet, sheathing his sword.

"Let's go join Aela and Farkas," he suggested quietly, without looking at her, and Lisara nodded in agreement. Even though he didn't see her response, he started walking out of the room.

Together, they made their way back through the tomb in silence. Aela and Farkas were not in the room they'd left Farkas in, so they continued back to the entrance. When Ysgramor's statue loomed at the top of the stairs, they could finally hear Aela and Farkas' voices. They were speaking in low tones, likely as a sign of respect to the Companions they'd fought below.

Vilkas emerged from the staircase first, prompting Aela and Farkas to look in their direction. Farkas immediately made for his brother, but Aela remained behind, near the wooden door that marked the exit.

"Well? How did it go?" Farkas asked, clasping his brother's upper arm.

"It—" Vilkas broke off, dropping his gaze to the ground. "The curse is broken."

"Do you feel different?" Farkas' eyes were alight with excitement, despite his earlier uncertainty about breaking his own curse.

"I do, but . . . I don't think I could put it into words just yet. Can we—Can we speak more about this later? Back at Jorrvaskr?" Vilkas asked. His voice was barely above a whisper, and Farkas must've sensed his twin's ambivalence.

With a nod, he said, "Of course, brother. Let's head back now," and threw his arm around Vilkas, leading him towards the door.

Aela pushed it open for them, and after Lisara trailed after them, she let the door fall shut. Farkas had already let his arm drop from Vilkas' shoulder, and led them up the rickety wooden staircase to the surface. He and Aela immediately started southwards, in the direction of the small dinghy they'd ridden on to the island. Aela was already out of sight, lost in the newfound snowstorm, when Farkas noticed that Vilkas and Lisara hadn't followed after them.

"What are you two waiting for?"

Lisara looked over at Vilkas, who simply shook his head at his brother. "I just need a moment. We'll meet you back at Jorrvaskr in a bit."

"Are you sure?" Farkas seemed hesitant to leave them, likely sensing his twin's mood.

"I'm sure. Go," Vilkas urged, waving his hand at his brother.

With a final nod, and quick glance at Lisara, Farkas heeded his brother's instruction and hurried after Aela's receding form. The two of them watched Farkas race off, and it wasn't until his large silhouette was no longer visible that Vilkas faced Lisara.

"I just . . . didn't know how to . . . put it into words just yet," he explained, keeping his eyes locked on the snowy ground.

"I understand," Lisara said quietly. "Maybe not directly, but . . . I understand needing a moment to yourself. If you want me to, I can wait for you back at Jorrvaskr, too."

"No, I—I wanted you to stay, lass. It's not that I want to be alone, necessarily, I just—I know you'll be with me without feeling the need to talk."

A tiny smile graced her lips. "That, I can do."

He mirrored her expression, though it was short-lived. With lethargic steps, he traipsed over to the edge of the small cliff, bracing himself on a raised knee. "It's strange. I've wanted to be rid of the beast blood for as long as I can remember—as long as I've had it, really. But I wasn't expecting it to be quite so . . . emotional."

"It was a  _part_  of you, as much as you wanted it to not be. I think if you felt nothing, that might've been more strange."

Vilkas only hummed, his eyes trained on the horizon. "I don't know  _how_  to feel, lass."

"What does your heart tell you? What is the first thing you notice, now that the beast blood is gone?" she asked, trying to give him direction.

Slowly, he looked over at her, his eyes clearer than she'd ever seen them. Not only were they brighter, but there was no unbridled energy hidden behind an unnatural veil. What she saw in the pale blue depths was purely Vilkas, nothing else. It was wholesome, warm, like the true reflection of the man she cared about. It was breathtaking.

"I feel . . . free."

Lisara's smile widened, and she walked over to join him. Without a word, she lifted her hand to him, palm up. His eyes flitted down before he took her hand, turning it to kiss the top. "Thank you, lass, for coming with me. And even though I didn't ask, for knowing that I had to do it on my own."

"You don't have to thank me, Vilkas," she murmured, reaching up with her other hand to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear.

A low chuckle escaped him. "I do, for more than this, but—"

He cut himself off with a slight grimace. When she moved to ask him what he'd meant to say, he quickly bent down and captured her lips in a kiss. She knew he'd done it to silence her, but she let him have this one. If he didn't want to say whatever he'd meant to say, now, then she could only guess he wasn't ready. She understood, more than he probably realized, how he felt.

It was a chaste kiss, short and with a purpose wholly different from their past kisses. When he pulled away, she looked up at him with a smile. "Home?"

This time, his matching grin was wide, genuine. "Yes, lass. Home."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to StarryNight101 for always beta-reading at the last minute. I always tell her I have a chapter for her, and then two weeks go by before I'm finally sending it off, hahaha. 
> 
> Thanks to all of my readers for being ever-so-patient. You guys keep me going. See you next time :)


	21. The Harbinger

Raucous laughter filled the halls of Jorrvaskr, filling Lisara with joy on Vilkas' behalf. On the other end of the hall, near the massive fire pit in the center of the room, he was surrounded by other members of the Companions: Aela, Farkas, Athis, Ria, Tilma. All of his peers were congratulating him on his ascension to Harbinger; there wasn't a single complaint, or a single person, who disagreed with Kodlak's posthumous decision.

In fact, Tilma had immediately announced that there must be a celebration in Vilkas' honor. Though he protested, and insisted that that wasn't necessary, Tilma had ignored him and disappeared into the belly of Jorrvaskr to begin preparations. Despite the fact that he'd been so adamant on  _not_  celebrating, he appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

It warmed her to see him so . . .  _happy._  Never once in the short, few months she'd known him, had she ever seen him smile so freely, completely without constraint. He'd smiled before, yes, though it had been rare. When he looked at  _her_ , his expression softened, and he was more prone to expressing his joy. But it always seemed like he held back, or like there was  _something_  that held him back, from fully enjoying the emotion. Now that she saw him living his life free from the curse, she finally felt like she truly understood what he'd meant when he'd called it such.

Beside Vilkas, Aela smiled and clasped his shoulder, squeezing for the briefest of moments. Vilkas, too, smiled, before he turned his attention to his twin. Aela's gaze shifted, catching Lisara's across the room, and it almost felt like a tangible shift in the air occurred as they locked eyes.

For a moment, Lisara wondered if the huntress was trying to make her feel envious by flaunting their close relationship in front of her. Briefly, envy did flare within her, but she knew with utmost certainty that Vilkas would never intentionally make her feel that way. Any feelings of jealousy she experienced were all of her own making, and she fought to stomp them out.

No, the look almost seemed like it was meant more to . . . challenge her—to ask Lisara whether she really belonged here, with them, as part of the Circle. Though she wasn't a werewolf, and had little to no interest in becoming one—especially after seeing how Vilkas felt about it—she  _knew_  about the curse. By default, that made her at least somewhat involved with the Circle.

But to what end was Aela doing this? Did she really expect Lisara to turn tail and leave, to throw what she and Vilkas had aside so easily? Or did she truly not know how they felt about one another?

Then again, it wasn't as if either of them had spoken their feelings aloud to each other.

With a sigh, Lisara tilted her head towards the wall, gesturing for Aela to join her. Though the huntress cinched her brows, she did start moving towards the indicated spot.

_If I'm to stick around, if I'm to stay with Vilkas, this bridge needs to be mended._

As much as she didn't particularly care that she was no longer in Aela's favor, Lisara knew that Aela was important to Vilkas. They'd known each other for ages, nearly grown up with one another, and if it came down to choosing Lisara or Aela . . . well, she never wanted him to feel like he had to make that choice.

The huntress' footsteps were light, fleeting, and then she was standing in front of Lisara with a terse expression. "You 'called' for me?"

Lisara cringed at the tone of Aela's voice.  _I suppose it did_ seem _like I summoned her, didn't it?_  "I was hoping you had a chance to talk."

"About what? I've little to say to you, Lisara."

Another sigh leaked out of Lisara, and she fought hard to not roll her eyes. "I know you and I have had our differences lately, Aela, but I—"

" _Differences_? Is that what you'd call them? Is that what you'd call  _lying_  to us?" Aela sneered.

"Please let me finish?" Lisara asked through gritted teeth.

Aela huffed, before nodding and gesturing for Lisara to continue.

Lisara took a deep breath before starting again. "Call it what you will, I know that you and I have not been on the same page for the past few days. I'm not blaming you, because it isn't your fault, it's mine—" Aela opened her mouth as if to speak, and Lisara held up her hand. " _Please,_ let me finish. It  _is_  my fault, and I am trying to acknowledge that. I care about Vilkas, and you and I constantly being at odds is not something I think he'd be pleased about. So, if you are amenable to the idea, I'd like to at least  _try_ to apologize for what I did."

Aela's expression softened, though she crossed her arms over her chest. "I am willing to listen, that much I can tell you."

Grateful, Lisara nodded. "It's . . . true that the reason I came here to the Companions wasn't entirely noble—I've admitted as much."

"Yes, you have, but that much was obvious."

Whatever gratitude that had popped up quickly dissipated, and Lisara sighed. "However, despite the reasons, I . . . I would never hurt Vilkas now, I hope that you know that, Aela. I couldn't hurt him, even if I tried."

Aela narrowed her eyes. "And why is that? His oh-so handsome looks stop your blade?"

"Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think him handsome, obviously," Lisara began, a bit irked that Aela would think she was so shallow. Then again, the huntress didn't really know her, and wasn't that exactly why they were in this predicament? "But, no, that wasn't why I chose not to fulfill my contract."

"Then why?" Aela questioned, her expression impassive. "Why choose to defy your 'family', to call upon the full ire of the Dark Brotherhood? Why go against everything you'd believed in for  _one_  man?"

"This may sound silly to you, but . . . it was because Vilkas reminded me of my brother."

At that, Aela narrowed her eyes, seemingly disbelieving of Lisara's logic. "The man you're laying with reminds you of your brother?"

"Not like  _that_ , for Talos' sake," Lisara muttered. "It was something he'd  _said_ to me earlier that day. When I was there, poised over him and ready to deliver the killing blow, for whatever reason, his words came back to me. I couldn't—It felt  _wrong_  to kill Vilkas."

"Wrong? An assassin, doing her job and killing her contract felt  _wrong_?" Aela asked. She sounded disbelieving, as if it wasn't possible at all for such a thing to happen.

"Yes, Aela,  _wrong_. Believe me or don't believe me, but that's what stayed my hand. When Vilkas found me the morning after everything happened, I was . . . indignant; angry that he'd caught me so easily, frustrated that I was being dragged up the steps to see the Jarl like a child that'd misbehaved. But then . . ." Lisara trailed off, dropping her gaze to her hands. Would Aela understand why Lisara had truly decided to stick with Vilkas? Would the huntress laugh in her face about her reasoning, call her childish, misguided?

Aela huffed, seemingly impatient. "And then?"

Lisara locked eyes with Aela once more, before murmuring, "And then he let me go."

"He let you  _go_?"

"Yes, he did. After getting roped into helping with the initial dragon fiasco, we returned to Whiterun to tell the Jarl about what happened. When we were before him, and Vilkas had the chance to tell Jarl Balgruuf why he had originally meant to bring me in . . . he lied. He told the Jarl I'd recently joined the Companions, and . . . that was it, we left. We were outside atop the stairs when he told me to leave and all would be forgotten. If he ever saw me again then things would be different, but . . . I was free to go."

"Then why did the two of you end up traveling together? If he specifically said that things would be different the next time 'round, I imagine he meant he wouldn't hesitate to fight back, to defend himself if you ever showed your face again."

A chuckle left Lisara. "I imagine that's  _exactly_  what he meant, yes, but like the idiot I am, I didn't listen. I'd meant to leave, I really had. But as I was standing there, watching him walk away, I ended up asking myself, 'How does someone become so good?' How, after all the things he must've gone through in his life—all the hardships, all the death and sadness a warrior of Skyrim sees—has he remained such a good person? If I'm being honest, I was comparing the two of us.

"We had similar occupations, though he spent his time in the daylight, obviously saving people for coin and recognition. What I did was the complete opposite, in the shadows, but you cannot deny that both of our lives had much violence and death in them. And, knowing what I know now about the curse, that was especially true then.

"How, for two people who had such similar life circumstances, could he have gone one way, and I, the other?"

As if she was caught off-guard by Lisara's admission, Aela remained silent. Her gaze never wavered, watching Lisara as she spoke and subsequently fell silent, but her expression was no longer antagonistic, or harsh. It appeared as if the huntress was processing everything that Lisara had said, weighing the truth and trying to separate them from the lies she had been so sure she'd hear.

And yet, it was the most honest Lisara had ever been, to anyone. She had never even told Vilkas her reasons for staying, and though she was surprised that the truth flowed from her lips so easily, she felt . . . relieved—as if a weight had been lifted off of her chest and she could now breathe.

"So," Aela began in a quiet voice. "That's why you stayed? That's why you didn't kill Vilkas? Because he was 'good'?"

"I know that it probably sounds ridiculous to someone like you, but . . . yes, that's why. I couldn't—" Lisara broke off to take a deep breath, trying to coordinate her words into a coherent sentence. Though it was a relief to finally say the words aloud, it was also . . . difficult. "For once in my life since I'd joined the Dark Brotherhood, I couldn't stand to be the one who removed such good from the world. Not someone this unerringly true and honest, not Vilkas. And after I'd made that decision, I only wanted to know even more what drove a man to be the way he was. What were his motivations, what were his reasons, what were his beliefs? I  _had_ to know more about him."

"And  _that's_  why you joined him on his journey?"

Lisara nodded, doubly relieved that Aela wasn't rejecting her explanation, and that the other woman didn't seem angry. In fact, she only seemed contemplative. Suddenly, the huntress snorted. "I knew it had to be something like that. Who would want to join such a grump on a journey across Skyrim just to find out his 'true destiny', or whatever ridiculousness those old farts up on the mountain told him?"

"Old f—are you referring to the Greybeards, Aela?" Lisara asked, amused.

"Of course I am. Who else could it be?" Aela quipped.

Lisara tried to contain her laughter, and it ended up coming out as a snort instead. "Well, that aside, I . . . I know it isn't quite an excuse, or a good reason, but . . . I wanted you to know why I stayed, why I care for Vilkas more than I ever expected to. I don't expect you to believe me right away when I promise that I would never hurt him now, but . . . well, now you know."

Aela lowered her arms, studying Lisara as she relaxed. "You're right that it will take some time to learn to trust you again. I, honestly, had never really gotten the chance to get to know you before you told us the truth, and . . . it's not an easy thing to earn back."

"I never expected it to be, so I understand. Thank you, Aela, for letting me say my piece at all."

Aela nodded. It was curt, but Lisara suspected that was simply the huntress' personality as opposed to any lingering antagonistic emotions. The two of them stood there in silence for a few moments, until Aela cleared her throat.

"Well, as great as this talk was, I'm going to go back and enjoy the festivities. So . . . we'll speak again later, I'm sure, Lisara."

Lisara offered a small wave as the huntress ambled off in the direction of the fire pit. Though it was obvious that the two of them wouldn't become friends overnight, at least the open wound had been patched and would, hopefully, begin to heal.

She was still watching Aela walk away when a muscular arm wound its way around her waist, catching her by surprise. A gasp escaped her, and after she was turned around, Vilkas was standing right in front of her.

"Did I scare you?" he teased, one corner of his lips curling upwards.

"I hardly scare, Vilkas, but you did catch me by surprise." She smiled up at him, comforted by the warmth of his embrace.

This celebration was for him, and though they were both in the same room, she'd felt guilty for wanting to pull him away from his fellow Companions. This joy was something  _they_ all needed to share in together, and she didn't want to be the one to steal him away from his friends. Apparently, though, he'd taken matters into his own hands and come to find  _her_  instead.

Vilkas leaned down, brushing the curve of her ear with his lips. Goosebumps broke out along her skin at the ghostlike touch. When he spoke, his voice was low. "I see you were talking to Aela about me."

"About  _you_? And how exactly would you know that, Vilkas?" Lisara asked, blinking up at him in suspicion.

"I . . . may have overheard the two of you . . ." He trailed off, releasing her waist and shuffling in place, as if embarrassed.

"'Overheard', hm? Don't you mean, 'eavesdropped'?" she teased, poking him lightly in the stomach, despite the fact that he was still wearing his wolf armor.

To his credit, he still leaned back, clutching his midsection as he looked greatly offended. "I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say 'eavesdropped', lass. This  _is_  the mead hall, after all. If you'd wanted privacy, you two would've been better off going downstairs."

"Fair enough," she conceded with a laugh. "Either way, overhearing or eavesdropping aside, yes, we were talking about you."

Vilkas' expression sobered, and he lowered his arms to his side. "Is that really why you stayed? Why you came after me?"

Lisara's eyes widened in surprise. "You heard that part, too? Just how much of our conversation  _did_ you hear, Vilkas?"

His face twisted up in an almost-grimace, and he tilted his head down. "All of it."

"All of—Vilkas, that most assuredly counts as eavesdropping."

"I would say I'm sorry, lass, but . . ."

"But you're not, and I suppose that's fair—the conversation  _was_  about you," Lisara muttered, suddenly embarrassed. Though she'd eventually wanted to tell Vilkas about her reasons for staying, if he hadn't overheard what she'd told Aela, she wondered whether she'd have ever told him the truth at all. Perhaps it was a good thing he'd found it, regardless of the way it had happened.

"So . . ." He began, running his hands up and down her arms. "Is it true?"

With a sigh, Lisara looked up at Vilkas and met his gaze. Despite how pale his eyes were, they were nonetheless filled with warmth and a level of understanding she had yet to see in anyone else's throughout her entire life. Eventually, she offered a small nod. "Yes, it's true. I decided to stay with you, because I wanted—needed—to know how it was possible to remain so good, despite all the bad things, the hardships, that one's experienced."

When her words trailed off, she reached up and cupped Vilkas' cheek. His stubble grated against the skin of her palm, and although some might've considered it painful or irritating, she found it oddly comforting. It was a constant reminder that the man in front of her was  _real_ ; Vilkas was beyond all of the rumors, and the assumptions of a man of his stature and nature. He was intelligent, handsome, understanding, loyal to a fault . . . but he had his flaws, too, and somehow, that made her love him more.

As the thought crossed her mind, she almost twitched in surprise. _Love? Do I . . . love Vilkas? Truly? Do I feel the same way he does about me?_

With that mental question, near-immediate realization blossomed within her. How could she have doubted her feelings for this long? How could she have ever questioned whether she really loved the man in front of her? She wondered if . . . perhaps she'd loved him since that night at High Hrothgar, when she'd found him serenading the empty room beside the fire. Perhaps she was simply afraid of loving someone again, and having them disappear and leave her behind once more.

That memory of her and Vilkas' early days made her smile, and her happiness quickly spread, overtaking her entire expression. As if surprised to see her quick change in mood, Vilkas tilted his head ever-so-slightly. "What has you smiling so widely, lass?"

"Nothing. Just . . . thinking about the past."

"What exactly in the past is on your mind?" he asked, twirling her around so that they faced the stairs leading downwards.

"I was thinking about the night we reached High Hrothgar . . . Do you remember?"

A chuckle left Vilkas, and he draped his arm over her shoulders. "I do, though it wasn't a particularly exciting night as I recall."

"Oh, I beg to differ," she teased. "That night, I found out that you're a relatively good singer."

This time, Vilkas groaned. "I'd forgotten  _that_  part. Let's keep that between us, shall we, lass?"

"But why?" Lisara feigned ignorance. "Surely the rest of the Companions know just how talented you are. Perhaps we should have them all gather 'round, and you can treat us  _all_ to a song!" She moved to lean back, craning her neck to yell over her shoulder, "Oh, Far—"

Vilkas cut her off by quickly spinning her around and capturing her lips in a kiss. A muffled, surprised gasp bubbled up in Lisara's throat before dying out, stolen by his mouth. Vilkas had always been an impressive kisser, but when he was trying to be persuasive . . . by Sithis, he could be convincing.

When he finally pulled away and Lisara was able to take a breath, she blinked up at him. "Well, that's one way to get me to stop talking," she gasped.

Vilkas hummed, before tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "What do you think about finishing up this conversation downstairs, hm?"

"Vilkas, this is  _your_  celebration. Wouldn't you feel guilty for sneaking away?" she countered. If she were being perfectly honest, however, she didn't mind in the slightest about leaving the festivities early—at least, not for what Vilkas was suggesting.

"It's  _because_ this celebration is for me that I don't feel guilty at all. I should get to decide what I wish to do with my night, shouldn't I?"

"I can't say your logic isn't sound," Lisara said, with a coy tilt of her head.

He leaned in, brushing his lips along her jaw as he murmured, "Then what are we waiting for?" before taking her hand and pulling her with him towards the stairs.

_He's being uncharacteristically flirty_ , Lisara thought to herself, staring up at Vilkas' profile as they made their way out of the room. The tiniest of smiles was teasing at the corner of his lips, and she briefly wondered— _hoped_ —that perhaps he was thinking along the same lines that she was.

Neither one of them had ever brought up the future— _their_  future. Up until now, it seemed like both of them were willing to simply take their relationship day by day, moment by moment. There had never been any sense of urgency, or need to define what they really were, aside from Vilkas voicing his affections. With the sudden need to speak to Aela and clear the air between them, and the realization of her true feelings for Vilkas, Lisara wondered if perhaps . . . the time was now.

However, despite the hopefulness she felt about the feelings they shared, she was also worried. While Vilkas had every right to be happy, now that he was free from the curse that had plagued him for so long, he almost seemed . . .  _too_ happy. They were riding on the coattails of Kodlak's death, and though Vilkas had spoken a little about it, Lisara worried that he was keeping everything in, trying not to think about it in an attempt to avoid processing it—and that never ended well for anyone.

When they had reached the first step leading down to the living quarters, Farkas' booming voice called out to them from across the hall.

"Brother! Where are you going? We're about to start a mead drinking challenge!" As if to emphasize his point, Farkas lifted a rather large, wooden mug, up into the air. Mead sloshed down the side of the mug and traveled down his burly forearm, though Farkas hardly seemed to notice.

"Maybe later, Farkas. We've things to discuss," Vilkas yelled back, tilting his head towards Lisara.

Farkas let out a loud guffaw and slapped his belly, seemingly in great humor. "'Discuss'? Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"

Lisara blushed, tucking her chin into her chest. "Must he  _shout_?"

Vilkas chuckled, before saying, "Remember when I said it's better that Farkas was teasing you in private as opposed to public? This was the alternative."

"You're right. This is far worse."

He laughed again before they disappeared down the steps. Though Farkas continued to shout after them, Lisara tried her very hardest to ignore the more rambunctious brother. It was probably useless, considering the fact that she knew he'd only start up again if they emerged later, but if she thought about what everyone else was thinking due to Farkas' antics, she'd lose all nerve.

If she wanted to tell Vilkas how she really felt, that she returned his love, she couldn't afford that right now.

As most, if not all, of the Companions were upstairs partaking in the festivities, the living quarters down below were dark and silent. Tilma had left a single wall torch burning just at the base of the stairs, and Vilkas beelined for the table against the far wall, presumably in search of a smaller torch to use. He'd been sifting around the table's contents for a minute or so, before Lisara rolled her eyes and tossed a light fire spell at the unlit torch across the hall.

When the flame roared to life, Vilkas jumped, staring at the torch in surprise. Then, he glanced back at her with narrowed eyes. "I assume that was you, lass?"

"Well, who else would it have been, Vilkas?" Lisara asked with a raised brow, gesturing around at the deserted hallway.

He stared at her in silence before straightening, clenching his fist at his side. "Magic makes me . . . uncomfortable. I had no idea you could use it so easily."

"I don't know that I'd say 'easily', I'm no mage. But I know a few simple spells that make life a bit more convenient, is all." She pointed at the now-lit torch, and added, "For example."

Vilkas' only response was a grunt as he lit the small torch in his hand with the flame she'd ignited. As he moved on down the hall towards his quarters, Lisara trailed after him, staring at the back of his head with a slight tilt of her own. "You know," she began. "I don't remember you having any qualms about Aela using magic that one time, when we were at the Silver Hand's hideout."

" _That_  was a special circumstance, lass. Aela admits to knowing no other spells."

"Special circumstance or no, a spell is a spell, is it not?"

This time, Vilkas whirled around, his brows furrowed. "You were  _dying_. As much as it pained me to accept her offer, when she said she could heal you enough to ensure you'd survive the trip back, I didn't hesitate to say yes."

"Still, you never brought it up again afterwards."

"Because I didn't want to talk about it," Vilkas sighed, sounding exasperated. "Is this truly what you wanted to focus our time on, now that we're alone down here?"

Lisara, too, sighed. "No, of course not. I just . . . hadn't realized that you were  _that_ against magic."

"It isn't magic  _itself_  that I'm against." He turned away, pushing open the wooden door to his room. "It's . . . We just don't know where magic comes from, what the price for using it is."

"Well, yes, we do. It's called magicka—it's a sort of energy that builds up and that expends upon casting a spell."

"But where does that energy come from? Why do some people have more access to it and others do not?" He didn't look at her as he spoke. Instead, he chose to make his way around the room with the tiny torch he'd picked up, lighting all of the candles. A soft, diffused glow overtook the room, casting shadows on the stone walls.

"Why do some people have brown hair, and others blonde?" Lisara returned. "Honestly, the technicalities of magic and its use is something best explained by those at the College of Winterhold. I only know enough spells to get by."

"But how—"

Lisara held up her hand, cutting Vilkas off. "Remember when you asked me if I really wanted to spend our time talking about this? I'm going to ask you the same question now. If you really want to sit here, and debate back and forth the uses of magic and how it really works, we can. But I imagine there were other, better, things you brought me down here to do?" she ended with a sly grin.

Another long sigh leaked out of Vilkas, and he leaned back against his desk and finally faced her. Quickly, he doused the torch and set it down beside him. "Yes, you're right lass. I'm sorry I turned it into this whole debacle."

"It's all right," she said, sidling up to him and turning around so that they were both leaning against the desk. "I understand why it makes you uncomfortable. I just think it might be a topic better saved for later."

"Agreed. There are far more things we could . . . 'talk' about."

He grinned at her, and the corners of his eyes crinkled up in a way that Lisara found incredibly endearing. The room fell silent, the space between them no longer filled with words, but tension instead—the good kind. It was then that she realized just how long it had been since they'd had an opportunity like this—an opportunity to be alone.

In fact, the last time was just before Kodlak's funeral, when Vilkas had opened up and shown his emotions to her.

But this time, no one needed their attention. No one would come looking for them; Farkas had seen them leave and had likely announced to the entire room that they'd be gone for some time—much to Lisara's dismay. This was, quite possibly, the first time they could actually slow things down, enjoy one another.

It seemed as if Vilkas was on the same page, because he stared down at her with a heated look that promised much. Anticipating what was to come, Lisara sucked in her bottom lip, biting it between her teeth. She hadn't thought it possible, but Vilkas' eyes darkened even further when she did so.

Without a word, he reached up and cupped her cheek. The warmth radiating from his palm seemed to spread through her, and she leaned into his touch, eager for more. He traced patterns along her jaw with his thumb, and the callouses on his fingertip caused shivers to ripple down her spine.

As if he knew the effect he was having on her—the effect his mere  _proximity_ had on her—the tiniest of smiles teased at his lips as he leaned in, closer to her. She tilted her head up, letting her eyes slide shut as she breathed in his familiar scent. The sharp fragrance of pine, the slight tang of blade oil, and the rich wave of leather enveloped her, but still, Vilkas' lips didn't touch hers.

Frustrated, and a bit confused, Lisara opened her eyes once more. When she saw that Vilkas was still right in front of her, but hadn't moved closer, she frowned.

"What are you waiting for?" she breathed, raising her eyebrows in a challenge.

To her surprise, he chuckled. The exhale tickled her face, and she crinkled her nose up in reflex. When he spoke, his voice was low, likely because they were standing nearly nose-to-nose. "Even when we've time to slow things down, you are still so impatient."

"Can you fault me for wanting you?" she whispered back.

They were the only two people in the room—no, on the entire floor—and yet, she felt the strange need to whisper. It was as if the sound of their voices at full volume would destroy the atmosphere, ruin the moment between them.

A smile graced his features at her words. "No, I cannot—not in the slightest. Because if it is even a fraction of how much I want  _you_ , I know that need, that desire, consumes you."

This time, when he leaned in, he pressed his lips firmly against hers. Heat radiated outwards from where their bodies met, and Lisara's slowly closed her eyes, lost in the moment. She reached up, placing her palm against the rough texture of his cheek, noting at the back of her mind how their arms seemed to intertwine, much like their lives had, albeit unexpectedly.

As if he knew exactly where her thoughts had drifted, he slid his hand back to wrap around her neck, craning her head upwards with the slightest pressure on his part. She gladly acquiesced, opening for him further. Without hesitation, he deepened their kiss. The slight pressure from his lips morphed into a caress of his tongue against hers. Every stroke, every slide, sent waves of heat and pleasure rippling through her body.

Each wave settled in the deepest reaches of her core, and she moaned into his mouth, unable to hold back her body's responses to his attentions. What she hadn't expected, was his reaction to the sound.

Without warning, Vilkas looped his other arm around her waist and lifted her into the air. As if she barely weighed a stone, he twisted them around, setting her down none-too-gently on the desk without ever breaking their kiss. Now that he had more leverage, he planted one arm on the desk's surface as he took his other hand and slowly, at an almost painful, leisurely pace, ghosted his fingers down along her leg. When he reached her knee, he hooked his fingers under her thigh, lifting her leg to drape over his hip.

Taking the hint, Lisara lifted her other leg to match, completely encircling his waist. One particular stroke from his tongue sent pleasure pulsing through her, and she arched her back in response. He chose that moment to break away, and her subsequent moan echoed throughout the room. With molten heat in his eyes, he looked down at her. His eyes darted around her face, as if trying to memorize every single one of her features.

Then, much to her surprise, he planted a kiss on her nose. Surprised, Lisara let out a tiny yelp as she jumped ever-so-slightly on the desk. He didn't give her a chance to speak, instead moving down to place a gentle kiss along her jaw. Finally understanding what he meant to do, Lisara tilted her head up and back, giving Vilkas access to her neck.

Gently, he swept her hair behind her shoulder and leaned in, taking a deep breath before exhaling on her skin. It was strangely primal, and she understood why he did it; she often felt the compelling need to simply  _breathe_  him in, and she imagined this was much the same for him. The fine hairs on her neck rose to meet his breath, and she shivered in response. He paused, seemingly in notice of her body's reaction, and brushed his lips along the length of her neck. The touch was so light, it was almost as if it weren't there at all—a ghost of what  _could_  be.

It made her stomach clench in anticipation, and she slowly drew her hand up along his arm. On an exhale, she breathed, "Vilkas, please. Don't make me wait any longer for you."

A soft chuckle—no more than a light puff of air against her skin—left him. Thankfully,  _blessed Sithis_ , he moved his arm around to her back, reaching for the buckle of her armor. As he pressed his lips to hers once more, his fingers deftly undid the clasp, and the collar of her armor loosened. Slowly, he peeled off her armor, inch by inch, as if he were unwrapping her like a gift to view for his pleasure.

With every inch he revealed, he deepened the kiss even more. By the time her breastband was exposed, she felt lightheaded, drunk with lust. Every breath she inhaled, she breathed his scent in, reveling in everything that he  _was_ —his kindness, his goodness, his unwavering trust in her. But most of all, his  _love_.

Even now, even after she finally realized that she felt the same way he did, it still hadn't fully sunk in. She couldn't quite comprehend how someone like her—someone who killed for a living, who had abandoned everything about the person she'd been before—could possibly deserve to be loved by someone like him. For all accounts, it shouldn't have been possible at all.

And yet, here they were, wrapped up in each other's arms. Here he was, staring down into her eyes as if she were the only thing he could see, the only thing that mattered to him in the room. The way that he touched her, caressed her skin every time he was near, was something she never thought she'd experience. The way he kissed her with complete and utter abandon, made her almost believe that she  _did_ deserve his love.

Lost in her thoughts, Lisara didn't realize that Vilkas had already removed her entire upper armor section. The leather was draped around her waist, pooling on the table like an afterthought—which, to be honest, it was. He shifted his hands to the front of her body, bringing them up to brush his calloused thumbs across her nipples.

The sensation made her gasp, and she arched her spine as she threw her head back, pressing her body into him even more. With featherlight touches, he slowly unwound her breastband as he lowered his head level with her chest. As soon as the linen wrap fell away, he dove in, capturing her nipple in his mouth with a hunger she was now all-too familiar with.

The first swirl of his tongue elicited a loud moan from her, and unbidden, she wound her fingers into the silky strands of his hair. When he circled her nipple again before sucking, she pulled his hair in response, earning herself a grunt from Vilkas.

"Sorry," Lisara exhaled. "I didn't mean to."

Almost reluctantly, Vilkas released her and leaned back. Looking up at her from underneath his unfairly long lashes, he murmured, "You misunderstand, lass. That was a  _good_  thing."

"Oh. Well, then," she said with a smile, lightly running her fingers through his hair.

His eyelids fluttered as his grip on her waist tightened. Without warning, he lifted her off of the table. A tiny squeal escaped her, and she quickly wound her arms around his neck. He carried her over to the bed before plopping her down on it, none-too-gently. She bounced the slightest bit, and he used the momentum to tug the rest of her leather armor off.

After shucking the suit and her boots to the side, he leaned over her once more. His hair fell around his face like a curtain, and she reached up to sweep it back, wanting to see his eyes. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Have I ever told you that I absolutely love your eyes?"

"Is that so?" he asked, the corner of his lips twitching upwards.

"They're beautiful."

His teasing smile softened into a true one, and he reached down to caress her cheek. " _You're_ beautiful, lass."

Tucking her face into the underside of his forearm, she breathed out a chuckle. "You are far too suave for your own good, Vilkas."

"Good thing for me," he began as he trailed his fingers down along her side, "I don't have to convince you to get into bed with me."

"So, what, you're simply saying it because you want to?"

He smiled again, hooking his finger underneath the band of her smalls to slowly pull it off of her hips. "I'm saying it because it's the truth."

Surprised, Lisara's smile faded. "You . . . really think that?"

"Think what?" Vilkas paused, her smalls still wound around her ankles. "That you're beautiful?"

Afraid of his reply, all she managed in response was a small nod. With a gentleness she likely didn't deserve, he lowered her legs and crawled over her body until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Lass, you  _are_  beautiful. I've seen plenty of women throughout the years of my life, but none of them can compare to the way you captivate me."

"But why?" she breathed, toying with an errant strand of his hair. "Why do I captivate you?"

As if he hadn't expected the question, he leaned back ever-so-slightly. "Why wouldn't I? You are strong—" He broke off to quirk an eyebrow. "Almost as strong as a Nord, and that's saying something. You are brave; you follow your own path, no matter what other people might say. You  _believe_  in me, unconditionally and unerringly, and I've only ever known two other people who have felt the same way. One is my brother, so he has to. The other was Kodlak, and—"

When she saw his expression twist in sorrow, she pressed a finger to his lips. "I understand, because that's much the same way I feel about you. You didn't have to trust me, and yet, you did.  _Because_  you did, we're here now,  _with_ one another. You didn't have to let me into your life the way that you did, and I wonder every day where I would be now, had you not decided to forgive me for what I came to do."

He pressed a kiss to her palm. "How could I not have, when you looked at me the way you did?"

She frowned, thinking back to the day they'd almost parted on the steps of Dragonsreach. "How did I look at you?"

He didn't respond right away, choosing instead to stare down into her eyes with warmth and love in his own. "Like no other woman ever had before," he whispered, before swooping in and capturing her lips in a kiss.

Immediately, a rush of desire swept through her, lighting every single inch of her skin on fire. Everywhere he touched—and oh, did his hands seem to be everywhere—she burned. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling her body up to press against his as much as possible. He was still wearing his armor, and the metal against her skin was ice cold, but she was so unwilling to be separated from him that it was all she could do to ignore it.

As if they were overcome with newfound urgency, he reared up, bringing her level with him. Without breaking the kiss, he quickly unbuckled the straps of his armor. When the metal plates clanged against the stone floor, she unwound her arms from around his neck, frantically tugging at the layers of linen on his body. He discarded his undershirt, leaving his upper body— _finally_ —exposed to her.

Hungry for more of him, she lightly dragged her nails down his chest, reveling in the physical manifestation of his strength. When her fingertips ghosted across his abdomen, he sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed her upper arms.

This time, it was her turn to look up at him. "Liked that a bit too much, hm?"

He let out a strained chuckle as he pulled her flush against him. At the same time, he twisted their bodies, falling back onto the bed as she straddled his hips. "I think by this point, you know what I like far too well, lass."

With a teasing smile, she threaded her fingers through his hair again, running them through the long strands. "Apparently, there are still things I'm discovering, though."

"Yes," he breathed. "Apparently so."

Lisara straightened, flitting her fingers down along his body once more. When her fingers met the waistband of the pants he wore underneath his fur pelt, she paused, coyly glancing up at him. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she tucked a finger underneath the fabric, lightly grazing the skin over his hips.

Vilkas inhaled through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips bucked. Pleased with his reaction, she stuck the tip of her tongue through her teeth, curling her lips upwards in a smile. When he opened his eyes again and saw her expression, his hands immediately went to her waist and squeezed.

"I thought we agreed no teasing, lass?"

"Oh, no. I asked  _you_ not to tease  _me_. I never said I wouldn't do it to you."

"Oh, is  _that_  how this is going to go?" he growled, though his eyes were filled with mirth.

He tightened his grip, before flipping them over in one smooth motion. The air whooshed out of Lisara's lungs when her back hit the pelt beneath them, and she stared up at him in surprise. A coy smile graced his features, and when she reached up to touch him, he leaned away from her hands. A frustrated huff left her, and he chuckled in response.

At an agonizingly slow pace, he undid the laces of his trousers, holding her gaze the entire time. When she reached for him again, he slid off of the bed.

"Vilkas!" she chastised, wanting to feel his hands on her again, or to touch him herself—anything, by this point.

"Patience is most definitely not one of your strongest traits, lass," he teased, bending down to unclasp his greaves.

As he tossed them aside to join the larger pile of the rest of his armor, she let out a long sigh. "I've never claimed that it was. Can you please come back here now?"

He laughed, louder this time. "I wasn't intentionally teasing you, lass, calm down. I had to remove my greaves to get these off," he explained, finally shoving his trousers down and leaving him in nothing but his loincloth.

"Well," she said with a coy smile, "why stop there?"

He climbed back onto the bed with another chuckle, before laying on his back beside her. It was obvious that the events leading up to this point had him rather . . . excited; his erection pushed at the constraints of the loincloth, and she could easily see the hardened flesh hidden underneath the fabric.

In a low voice, he said, "I thought you might want to do the honors."

A smile spread across her face, slowly but without abandon. "It's as if you know me, Vilkas," she replied, in a voice equally as muted.

She crawled over, closer to him. With eagerness, she reached out, caressing the iron-hard flesh between his legs. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, and gripped the pelt beneath them with tense fingers. If his reaction was anything to go by, he wanted her just as much as she needed him right now. Unwilling to tease him any longer, she quickly untied the sides of his loincloth and moved the fabric aside, exposing him to her view.

Though they'd lain together once before, there'd been little opportunity to really  _enjoy_  one another. She'd barely managed a glance in his direction, and as such, this was really the first time she'd gotten the chance to  _see_ him—and by Talos, what a sight.

His muscles tensed and flexed in anticipation of her touch. The hard lines and ridges of his legs were shadowed in the low light, and when she reached out to trail her fingers up, along his thigh, his member twitched in expectation. For whatever reason, his body's primal reaction to her touch had heat pooling in her core, and she shifted her weight, trying to alleviate the pressure she felt down below.

He must've noticed. In a low voice, he said, "Touch me, Lisara."

Her eyes darted up to meet his. When she saw the molten heat in his pale eyes, she knew that he was nearly at his wits' end with their delay of the inevitable. Without a word, she wrapped her fingers around the silken, solid heat of his cock.

Again, he hissed, and his hips jerked upwards even more than before. Gently, but with enough pressure that she knew he would feel it, she stroked him—once, and then twice. When he inhaled and then quickly let out a moan afterwards, she traced the small divot just under the tip with her thumb.

This time, he groaned and covered her hand with his own. "If you keep doing that, lass, I won't be able to hold back much longer."

She pushed his hand away, though not unkindly, and said, "If you've been holding back on me, I suppose I'll just have to up the ante."

He furrowed his brows, seemingly confused. Before he had a chance to voice his concerns, she lifted his cock and leaned over, taking him into her mouth. A groan, deeper than any other that had left him before now, escaped him, and his hands flew to her hair. The braid she'd had prior to this was slowly unwinding, and his fingers in her long strands undid the tie at the bottom. His grip was tight, nearly painful, and when she took more of him in, he yanked at her hair without warning. A yelp left her, though it was nearly impossible to hear due to her mouth being otherwise occupied.

Apparently, though, Vilkas had felt the hum around him. "Sorry, lass, I—" He broke off, his words replaced by heavy breaths.

With a pop, she pulled off of him. To her surprise, she, too, was breathing heavily. "Don't apologize. Don't assume that I liked it any less than you."

His eyes jumped to meet hers, and he gently caressed the edge of her jaw. Without warning, he surged upwards, crushing his lips to hers. If it were possible to steal someone's soul with a kiss alone, she wondered if perhaps he could've done it right then.

Her heart was beating so hard, it was as if she could hear every heartbeat ringing in her ears. When she placed her palm against Vilkas' chest, she could feel his own heart racing, pounding against the underside of his sternum like it was fighting its way out of him, to get to her.

With their lips still pressed together, he lifted her up in his arms as if she weighed little more than a feather, bringing her up to straddle his hips again. When she opened for him and his tongue slid along the length of hers, she felt the tip of his cock nudge at the entrance of her core. She was so incredibly ready for him, that he barely had to lower her for him to slip inside of her.

Overwhelmed, she gripped at his massive shoulders, trying to find purchase. As if he understood exactly how she felt, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing their bodies against each other so completely, it felt as if they were one.

With every subsequent inch that entered her, a whimper left her lips. When he bottomed out, completely stretching her with his girth, she threw her head back with a deep moan. He flattened his rough palms against the skin of her back, trailing his lips along the curve of her neck.

"Lisara . . . By the Nine, you feel incredible," he breathed, lowering his head and placing his forehead against her chest.

"Vilkas," she began, squeezing his shoulders. "For the love of whatever god you wish to pray to, please move. I need you."

His responding chuckle ghosted across the slopes of her breasts, and he shifted his arms lower until they were just above her hips. With a light squeeze, he lifted her body up before slamming it back down. The shockwave of pleasure that rippled through her had her crying out in response. He did it again, and then again, and she finally moved her legs to rest her weight on her knees. When he moved his arms higher once more, she joined his rhythm, and then they were moving in cohesion.

When his fingers moved up into her hair, she inhaled sharply in anticipation. To her surprise, he did nothing. She paused her movements and tilted her head back down, threading her own fingers through his chestnut locks as he, too, stilled beneath her. His expression was tight, his brows furrowed in either concentration, or simply that he was overwhelmed with sensation—that was something she could completely understand.

"Vilkas? What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, sifting through the strands of his hair.

His gaze, so intense and focused wholly on her, never wavered from her eyes. He reached up, running the backs of his fingers along the curve of her cheek. In the light, his pale irises seemed aglow, boring into her as if he could see into her very soul.

When he still didn't speak a few seconds later, Lisara traced the line of his lips with her finger. Deep inside her, she could feel him twitch, and the sensation of being so stretched hadn't faded with the stilling of his hips.

She leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "Vilkas . . . speak to me, please."

His eyes slid shut, and his hand moved to cradle her head. Gently, he pulled her forward until their foreheads were pressed together. In a quiet voice that she swore wavered, he murmured, "Lass . . . Lisara . . . I love you."

Tears welled in her eyes at the warmth in his voice, and the pure, open honesty in his face. Had it been anyone else, she might have doubted the sincerity of his words, of his supposed love. But all it took was one glance into his eyes and she knew that he meant every bit of those three words.

Fear threatened to overtake her, and she tightened her grip on him, relying on his strength and surety to fuel her own courage. Wrapping her arms around his neck and grazing the outer shell of his ear with her lips, she whispered, "I . . . I love you, too, Vilkas."

Immediately upon the words leaving her lips, he reeled back, staring intently into her eyes. He hesitated before asking, "Do you mean that, lass?"

With a slight shake of her head, she said, "I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't truly meant it."

"It's just—I know that you were hesitant to say it before, the first time I said it to you. I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me that, or that you—"

Again, she pressed her lips to his—though this time, it was to interrupt him. When she pulled away, she traced her thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone. "I mean it. I'm sorry that it's taken me this long to realize how I truly felt about you, but . . . Sithis help me, I mean it."

Vilkas slowly shook his head as if he were having a hard time comprehending what she'd said. Without responding, he kissed the inside of her wrist, ghosting his lips along the sensitive skin. "I—" He broke off, choosing instead to wrap his arms around her waist in an embrace.

When she returned the gesture, winding her arms around his neck once more, he quickly flipped them over. Like earlier, the soft fur of the pelt rubbed against her skin as Vilkas hovered over her. This time, there was no more talking, no more teasing. He looped his hand underneath her thigh, holding her leg up against his waist as he drove back into her without warning.

Lisara cried out, and her hands flew to his arms, desperately searching for something to hold on to. Again, and again, he thrusted, and the pleasure threatened to overtake her. When she felt as if she were going to burst from the intensity, Vilkas reached down between them. His thumb grazed the bundle of nerves at the apex of her core, and she tightened her grip on his arms as a gasp escaped her.

He leaned in and licked along the length of her neck, blowing on the slick trail afterwards. The contrast of the heat from his mouth, and the cool air, made her shiver. When he followed suit with another press of his thumb, she couldn't help the moan that left her.

His breathing intensified, and as it did, so too did his pace. Moments later, from between clenched teeth, he said, "Lisara, I'm not going to make it much longer. You feel . . . incredible."

Pressing her cheek against his, she replied, "No one said you had to wait."

"But I want you to—"

She reached up and pulled on his hair. His only response was a grunt, and she said, "If you keep doing what you're doing, I won't be far behind. I promise."

For a brief moment, he pulled back to look into her eyes. Then, when he captured her lips in a deep kiss, his hips matched the strokes of his tongue. He moved his arm, but tilted her hips in such a way that he brushed against her bundle of nerves with every thrust.

The pressure within her built, and built, until she felt so taut, she thought she would break. One last snap of his hips had her shattering in his arms, and she threw her head back, letting out a keening cry. He lowered his body atop hers, wrapping her in an embrace as his pace quickened yet again. As she rode out the waves of pleasure, he let out a rough groan against the curve of her ear.

She floated down from her high, reveling in the weight of his body as it covered her. Despite the fact that they were both coated in a light sheen of sweat, she looped her arms around his broad back. With gentle strokes, she traced the lines of his muscles as her breathing slowed to a more normal pace.

Finally, when he lifted himself off of her, she moved a hand to his face, stroking her fingers along his coarse stubble. "Hello."

A chuckle left him, and he averted his gaze. "Well, hello, lass."

They shared in a quiet laugh as he rolled over, flopping onto his back beside her. "That was . . ."

"Incredible? World-shattering? As intense as a dragon soul entering your body?" she teased, propping her head up on her hand as she looked over at him.

"All three of those." He swiveled his head around to meet her gaze with a smile.

A moment passed where neither of them spoke, simply staring into one another's eyes. Eventually, Lisara took a deep breath, allowing a frown to spread across her face. "We have to go back upstairs eventually, don't we?"

Vilkas offered a nonchalant shrug. "'Tis a celebration in my honor, isn't it? I would imagine I could choose to stay down here if I so wished."

"Isn't that  _abandoning_  your own celebration?"

"Perhaps," he said with another laugh.

The conversation died down, but still neither of them moved. Slowly, almost lazily, Vilkas smiled at her. It was all she could do to try and fight her own smile, and when he reached for her, grazing her nipple as he moved his hand to her back, she took her bottom lip under her teeth.

Vilkas mirrored her expression. "What do you say about . . . celebrating down here? Just the two of us?"

Lisara's smile spread, and then she asked, "So . . . no more celebration upstairs for the rest of the night?"

In one smooth motion, he pulled her atop him again. A single flick of his thumbs across her nipples had her gasping in pleasure, and she gripped his shoulders.

"No, lass. No more celebration."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, some much needed fluff. Also, I LIVE! I am so so sorry this took ages and a half to get out. I am already a third of the way through the chapter for my other story, and after a quick one-shot for a fandom challenge, I'll be back to working on this again! I know this is a bit of a filler chapter, but I thought some happy, fluffy feels might be nice before we go back to questing and whatnot.
> 
> As always, thank you to StarryNight101 for beta-reading for me! My updates are so sporadic, and she's endlessly patient. Also, thank you to all of my readers for always being so patient and leaving lovely, encouraging reviews. I really appreciate everyone still wanting updates on this story, even though I tend to disappear for long periods of time...
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys the brief change of pace, and I'll see y'all next time!


	22. The Sanctuary

_The warmth from the fire woke her, comforting heat rolling against her skin in waves. When she cracked an eye open, she saw Elias standing at the washbasin across the room, rinsing vegetables from their garden for their nightly meal. For a moment, she watched him, pretending to still be asleep so he wouldn't know she was awake. With gentle hands that revealed his true nature, he ran the water over the skin of the onion, brushing off errant clumps of dirt and peeling back the golden, flaky layer as he went. A smile teased at the corners of her lips; he was always so meticulous and careful in everything he did—even something as small as preparing onions._

_Without turning in her direction, Elias said, "Well, get on up if you're awake, Lisara."_

_Surprised, she shot upright in her chair, hair falling into her face in her haste. "How did you know I was up?"_

_A chuckle escaped her brother. "Your breathing changes when you wake up. I probably knew before you did that you were conscious."_

" _That's not fair," Lisara said with a pout._

_Finally, Elias looked over at her with a grin. "If you want to keep sleeping, by all means. But that means you won't get dinner when it's done."_

" _Now that's_ really  _not fair!" she exclaimed, bouncing off the chair and scurrying over to Elias' side. She made it up to his shoulders, but he always seemed to be so much taller than she was. Eagerly, she stretched up on her toes to look into the washbasin._

"Now _you're just being a sneak." He bopped her on the nose with his wet finger, and Lisara wrinkled her nose at the feeling._

" _I'm not sneaking, I just wanted to know what you're making."_

" _Potato onion soup."_

" _Again?" she whined._

" _That's all we have, Lis. I'm sorry," Elias replied, his voice lowering at the end._

_His response made Lisara feel bad for even asking. She knew firsthand how hard it was to keep their garden healthy and thriving through Skyrim's harsh climate, and her brother worked even harder than she did. While she only helped tend the tiny patch of dirt a few days a week, Elias was outside nearly all morning, every morning, hard at work. It wasn't as if their father brought home much._

" _If you're going to stand here and watch, you might as well make yourself useful." Elias handed her a potato, skin still on and caked with dirt._

_Lisara rolled her eyes, but took the potato nonetheless. "Fine," she whined._

_For the next few minutes, they worked in silence beside one another. It was one of the few moments they had peace—from other responsibilities, from the harshness of life as a young child in Skyrim . . . from their father._

_As if her thought conjured the subject, the door burst open, letting in a draft of frigid air that called goosebumps to the surface of her skin. Her hair fluttered around her face, and Elias subtly shuffled around her to block her from both the elements and their father._

" _Father, you're home early," he commented, lowering his hand to his side._

_A grunt was the only response from their father, before he collapsed into the very same chair by the fire that Lisara had fallen asleep in. With a half-hearted wave, he called out in a slurred voice, "Bring me some food, boy."_

_Elias frowned. "Dinner is not finished yet, Father. That's why . . . That's why I said you were home early."_

_A moment of silence passed, and then their father bolted upright in the chair. With a dark expression on his face, he said, "What else do I keep you around for, boy?"_

_Lisara recognized the tone in their father's voice, and she immediately slid farther behind Elias. To her brother's credit, when he next spoke, his voice didn't shake. "Dinner will be finished soon, Father. Don't worry."_

_That seemed to mollify their father, as he leaned back in the chair again and draped his arm over his eyes. A grumble was his only response, and Elias wrapped his arm around Lisara's shoulders, turning her around._

" _I can finish the onions, Lisara. Do you want to do me a favor and go outside? Grab more potatoes?" Elias whispered._

_Lisara nodded, her shoulders scrunched up and her fingers twisting in front of her. Silently—or at least, as silently as she could manage—she snuck past her father's now-sleeping form, and out the door. As soon as it closed behind her, she let out the breath she'd been holding. Her shoulders sagged, her chest deflated, and she ambled over to their small garden on the side of the house._

_For another stolen moment, there was peace and quiet again. She dug the potatoes out with a small trowel that had been lying nearby, her thoughts flitting from place to place._

_She should have expected that it wouldn't last long._

_A crash came from inside the house, followed by the deep baritone of her father's voice as he shouted at Elias. Quickly, she tossed the trowel down, sprinting to the window that peered into the front room. The small end table that had been beside the lounge chair was now lying on its side in the kitchen. The sky blue, frosted vase that held a small bouquet of flowers—she always placed fresh ones in it at the start of every week—lay in shards beside the table; their father must have pushed the table, or thrown it, in a bout of anger._

_Elias was standing against the far wall, glaring up at their father with a defiance that belied his young age. A bright line of crimson streaked across his cheek, and a spike of fear lanced through her at the garish sight. Lisara wanted nothing more than to go back into the house, to stand beside her brother in a unified front against their father._

_But she was afraid._

_This was the first time one of them had been injured by their father, indirectly or no. It was the first time that his anger had manifested in physical harm. These bouts of violence had gradually been growing more common over the past few months. If this had finally happened, what was next?_

_Today, though, ended up being just like the others. Mere moments after their father's anger had flared up, it quickly subsided, leaking out of him like a lost life source. His shoulders dropped, his arms fell to his sides, and without another word, he shuffled out of the room. Sure enough, a few seconds later, his bedroom door shut with a click._

_Elias met her gaze in the window, nodding that it was safe for her to come back in. Wordlessly, she left the window, hurrying back inside to stand beside her brother. Equally as silent, he tightly clasped her to his side._

_It was then that Lisara realized he was shaking, but she was unsure whether it was out of fear or anger. Quelling the fear that still coursed through her, she wound her arms around his waist, holding him just as tightly._

" _I won't let him hurt you, Lisara," Elias said softly, though with no less vehemence. "No matter what happens, I won't let him hurt you."_

_With wide eyes, she peered up at him. "But who will protect_ you _, Elias?"_

_He looked back down at her, fire in his eyes. Blood from his new wound dripped down along his skin, staining it like she knew this experience would forever stain them. "From now on, we protect ourselves."_

_If only that had been true._

* * *

Lisara blinked, her mind torn from her memories by the sound of Vilkas' voice. Her gaze was focused on the large metal basin in front of her—empty now, but so reminiscent of the wash basin she used to stare into as she waited for her brother to prepare dinner.

_What a strange thing to spark a memory_ , she mused, her arms resting across her chest.

Again, Vilkas spoke, and she tore her gaze away, looking up at the only man in her life now as he spoke with Aela. A frown marred his handsome features. To anyone else, it would seem intimidating; she'd seen people cower under the strength of his glare.

Aela, though, was an exception. She fired back responses with just as much vigor, gesticulating as she tried to make her point known.

When they'd woken up that morning, they finally decided that it was time to speak to the Companions about their problem with the assassin guild. It was nearly impossible to go anywhere, do anything, without worrying about the Brotherhood finding them to finish the contract Lisara had broken—and now they were after her for her betrayal. If they were to continue on the quest that Delphine had given them, they needed to deal with the impending problem the Dark Brotherhood presented first.

Of course, before that could happen, they needed to come to an agreement on what exactly the plan was. Vilkas and Aela had been arguing about what to do for the past hour or so, and a solution seemed nigh impossible at that point. The rest of the Circle were simply standing around, waiting for them to come to a conclusion.

Beside her, Farkas shifted in place and let out an impatient huff. Glancing at her sidelong, he muttered, "Maybe while they're bickering back and forth, you and I should just go and take care of it ourselves."

An amused grin teased at the corners of Lisara's lips. "As much faith as I have in our skills, I don't think just the two of us could take down the entire guild, Farkas."

Teasingly, he nudged her with his elbow. "Oh, come on. You don't?"

Finally, she smiled up at him. "I wish that I shared your confidence," she said with a chuckle. "Besides, the Sanctuary is underground—plenty of spiders around the place."

Farkas shuddered, straightening beside her. "Never mind. You're on your own, Lisara."

The two of them shared another laugh, before Aela's voice rose above the jovial sounds. "That is a  _ridiculous_ idea, Vilkas! I don't understand how you could even begin to think that—"

Vilkas interrupted Aela with a pounding of his fist against the stone beside him. "Perhaps because I  _think at all_ , Aela! We cannot just charge in there, swords held high, and expect it to work this time 'round! These are  _assassins_ —they operate in the shadows, in secrecy, with poisons and subterfuge! You've seen Lisara fight! She doesn't dive into battle head-first and expect results, or to stay alive! We have to—"

This time, it was Aela's turn to interrupt him. "And you would know the best plan how? How many charges have you led, Vilkas? Especially since you took over as Harbinger? How would you know best how to get rid of a gang of assassins?"

His eyes narrowed. "Are you implying that you would be better at this job than I am? By all means, then, enlighten me."

Lisara let out a sharp exhale as she threw her hands up in the air. "Might I make a suggestion, you two?"

Both Aela and Vilkas' heads whipped around to glare at Lisara, and she stared defiantly back at them with her hands on her hips now. "Vilkas is right when he says that we cannot just charge into the Sanctuary. There is only one entrance, and it's a narrow staircase. There's no way we could simply go rushing down into the depths with swords drawn—we'd be picked off one by one at the base of the steps."

Vilkas, seemingly satisfied with her addition to the argument, gestured at Aela with a smug expression. Lisara then turned to Aela and added, "But  _you_  are right, Aela, when you say that Vilkas' idea is a bit mad." At that, he frowned again. Lisara ignored his reaction, and continued. "There is no way I could sneak into the Sanctuary, not anymore. There's a password, yes, but they would know immediately upon my entrance to be on guard. There's not really a way to sneak in and take them by surprise, either. That's what makes the Sanctuary such a strong point of defense."

Aela crossed her arms, staring at Lisara over the pedestal. "Then what exactly  _is_ this suggestion of yours?"

"There's another one up in Dawnstar. It isn't used much anymore, but I recall overhearing Astrid say that they were considering cleaning it up and using it as an additional base again—one that would be useful for the more northern contracts, so we wouldn't have such a long ride back down. If we can somehow force the Brotherhood to head north, that Sanctuary has an additional entrance, one not many members know about."

Vilkas furrowed his brows, seemingly thoughtful. "And you think we can use this additional entrance to sneak in?"

Lisara nodded. "Like I said, not many members of the Brotherhood even know it exists. It's really more of a secret exit, really, as we're supposed to enter through the password-protected door."

"Strange that assassins, of all people, have these ridiculous rules," Aela mumbled with a roll of her eyes.

With a shrug, Lisara said, "You'd be surprised how superstitious we are, honestly—or used to be, anyway."

The room fell silent, aside from the occasional  _tap-tap_  of Aela's fingers on the rim of the washbasin. The huntress and Vilkas stared at one another, seemingly having a mental conversation that neither Lisara nor Farkas were privy to.

Eventually, Aela let out a long sigh. "That seems like our best plan, then," she noted, facing Lisara head-on. "How exactly do you propose we convince them to move to the Dawnstar Sanctuary?"

At that, Lisara smiled. "That's the easy part. We make it so that they  _have_ to."

Both Aela and Vilkas frowned, apparently unsure of what exactly she meant. Before she elaborated, Lisara paced in a circle, her fingers cradling her chin as she thought up the beginnings of a plan.

"If we force them to move, to relocate to the Dawnstar location, it will put them right where we need them. We can take care of them there, using the—" She paused and made air quotes. "—secret entrance."

Aela sighed. "That's the problem, though, isn't it?  _How_ are we going to force them out?"

Vilkas scratched at his stubble, his gaze locked on the rock wall behind Lisara. "Well, if we simply make the old one unusable, they'd have no other choice."

"Exactly," Lisara agreed. "We can do that a variety of ways, but my favorite option is smoking them out."

At that, the huntress raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"

A slow grin spread across Lisara's face. "I do, indeed."

* * *

_A few days later . . ._

Every Morndas, Astrid would gather the family in the great room to discuss contracts. She'd assign some new ones here, offer advice there, and perhaps nudge those who were taking longer that she'd like. Depending on how much "housekeeping" she had to cover—or at least, that's what she'd called it—the meetings were around an hour, sometimes two. That gave them an incredibly small window to work with, and that knowledge had Lisara chewing the inside of her lip as she went over the plan in her head for the fifth time.

If their plan failed, they would likely not receive another chance. Astrid wasn't stupid; an attempted coup meant the family was endangered, and if they failed, she'd go to ground, making it even harder for the Circle to eradicate the Brotherhood in its entirety. While Lisara knew of both the Sanctuaries, she couldn't guarantee that Astrid wouldn't try something out of the norm, go somewhere entirely unexpected—specifically to throw her off their trail.

No, this was their only chance, so they had to do things right.

When she felt Vilkas's fingers curl around her shoulder, she tensed in surprise. She looked over at him, brows cinched in confusion.

"Lass, are you all right?" he questioned in a low voice.

"I'm fine. Why?" Her gaze swiveled back to the morbid door that marked the Sanctuary's entrance, feeling the sinister pulses course through her body.

"I've been trying to get your attention for the past few minutes, and you just keep staring ahead."

She shook her head, grateful that he was concerned but . . . they didn't have  _time_ for such things. "I was thinking about the plan, I'm sorry. I get a little . . . excessively focused when a target is in sight."

"Yes, I know." He said it as a quip, keeping his voice monotone, and it worked to lighten the mood. She snorted, and glanced over at him again with a small, grateful smile.

"We've only got one shot at this, so we have to make it count," she explained, voicing her concerns. "If we don't succeed, it's highly likely that Astrid and the Brotherhood will disappear, making it hard to find them again. Eventually, they'll come after us once more, and  _they'll_  have the advantage, then."

Vilkas nodded, his expression terse. "I understand, lass. You can do this, I believe in you."

Under her breath, Lisara muttered, "I suppose you have to."

In a reprimanding tone, he said, "Lisara . . ."

As she slid out of the underbrush and headed over to the entrance at a crouch, she mumbled, "Yeah, yeah."

Due to their impeccable timing, the entrance was deserted, allowing for a clear path to the door. The sun's bright rays blinded her, and it was a stark contrast to the way the air around her seemed to dim the closer she got to the entrance. As she approached the door, the pulsing in her head grew louder—a siren call for those who claimed Sithis as their chosen deity. Though she'd left the Brotherhood behind, it had been no small feat joining them; what she'd done had cemented her within Sithis' hold. It was no easy thing to leave  _him_ behind.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened. Gently, she placed her hand on the door, lining her handprint up with the crimson silhouette on the protruding skull's forehead. In an ethereal, raspy voice that sounded like the whispers of death itself in her mind, she heard, " _What is the music of life?_ "

"Silence, my brother."

" _Welcome home._ "

Dust emerged from the stone frame as the door grated inwards, and Lisara stepped to the side as she waited. Hiding just out of view, she peered around the corner, listening for any activity. As she'd suspected, the stairwell was quiet. Echoes of laughter whispered down the hall, but she could tell by the volume that the members of the Brotherhood were indeed in the cavern. Sound traveled strangely within the Sanctuary, but she'd lived within its walls long enough to know what to expect.

Her eyes slid shut as she took stock of her magicka; she wasn't a mage by any means, but most of the Brotherhood knew simple spells that would aid them in fulfilling their contract. She had to strategically disperse her casting so that she didn't completely drain herself too soon, leaving her stranded within the Sanctuary.

After she opened her eyes, her jaw set in determination, she headed down the cool stairway. From the blinding brightness of the outdoors, to the muted hallways of the Sanctuary, it took her eyes a few minutes to adjust. She took her time getting to the bottom, trying not to look directly at the few lit torches that lined her path. By the time she hopped off the last step, she could clearly see Astrid's operations table across the way, and the faded silhouettes in her bedroom beyond.

Quickly, she ducked into it, pressing her back against the stone wall beside the wardrobe. The plan was to get in, light some fires (literally), and get back out in less than ten minutes. The rest of the Circle was awaiting their return back at Jorrvaskr, ready to move out as soon as Lisara told them it was time. If all went according to plan, the Brotherhood would have little opportunity to gather their belongings, choosing instead to head directly to Dawnstar with minimal resources—something that the Circle could use to their advantage.

If the plan failed . . . well, she'd already warned as much to Vilkas. There could be no failure.

Astrid and Arnbjorn lined the floor of their bedroom with a bit of straw for warmth—though she marveled at the lack of logic in that choice. The fireplace in their stone hearth always crackled with warmth, no matter the time of day, and the straw seemed like an unnecessary risk. Then again, it made her job easier, so she wasn't about to complain.

Grabbing a handful of straw from the floor, she beelined for the fire and held the pieces in front of the flames. As they ignited, she watched the flames lick down towards her hand. When it was nearly completely aflame, she threw it on the bed against the far wall. The cotton sheets immediately gave way, and she hurried back out into the hallway. With the first of the fires lit, she had little time left.

Casting Invisibility, she hurried past the operations table and made her way down the steps. Once stone gave way to the dirt of the cavern, she came to a halt. Astrid and the others were gathered in front of the massive fire that burned on the far wall, and the entire family was listening with rapt attention to their ever-charismatic leader. The tiniest, briefest pang of longing stabbed through her heart; she'd never become particularly close with any of her "siblings", but there had been this unspoken level of trust between them. She still sometimes felt as if the Companions would never trust her the way her Dark Brotherhood family had.

They still judged her for who she'd been, and she couldn't blame them entirely for that. After all, it hadn't been that long ago that she'd left the Brotherhood behind. She, too, would doubt someone who claimed to have changed so quickly, and yet . . . the loss of that unerring trust still stung.

Briefly, she dropped her gaze to the ground before looking up at the group once more.

_I have to finish this_.

The thought had barely flitted through her mind before she quickly darted into the side tunnel leading out of the cavern. Most of the Sanctuary was a maze, winding in on itself in a way that had always made her wonder if it's true purpose  _was_ to confuse and frighten. Quickly, she made her way through the large, expansive room that separated the tunnels from the cavern. It was blessedly empty, what with everyone downstairs near the fire, and she avoided looking at the massive glass mural of Sithis. When she came out the other side, she reached a branching network of pathways that she knew wound their way throughout the hideout.

Two of the four led to living quarters, similar to Astrid and Arnbjorn's, only larger, so as to accommodate more people. There was less privacy, but most of them came from lives where that had never been a luxury in the first place. In the same way that she destroyed Astrid's room, she made quick work of the other bedrooms, before heading deeper into the sanctuary.

The last hallway looped back around to the cavern, but she had to time her return just right. As she lit fires along her path, she expected the family to find them in the order she'd set them. So long as they traced the same path she'd taken, she could emerge into the then-empty cavern, and beeline for the exit. If someone decided to wander elsewhere, or if Astrid returned to her bedroom and happened to spot Lisara on her way out . . . then the plan was ruined.

With that thought, Lisara's actions were spurred. She quickly laid waste to the alchemy lab, burned down the webs that littered Lis' hidey hole, and left a trail of flame in her wake. When she reached the entrance to the cavern, she pressed herself against the wall and re-cast Invisibility, listening for activity.

When a shout rang out, echoing back from the curved, stone walls, she grinned. They'd found her handiwork. The entirety of the family rushed out of the cavern. Most of them ran for their quarters, but Astrid sprinted up the steps to her bedroom. Oddly enough, Arnbjorn was missing—he must be out, finishing up a contract. That was one less body Lisara had to worry about, and she wasn't about to turn down the gods' favor—or complain.

As soon as the coast was clear, she sprinted across the large expanse, heading straight for the exit. Considering how fast she was running, the Invisibility spell did little to hide her appearance; she might be transparent for the next few minutes, but the sound her footsteps rang out loud and clear.

She paused in front of the fire across the way, glancing around before she stepped closer. Channeling a flame spell instead of Invisibility, she cast the spell into the already-burning fire, and watched as it flared up, higher than was natural. As the flames licked upwards, she swept the spell out and into the cavern.

Sparks and intense heat lit everything aflame in its path, and once the framework had been set, she dropped the spell. With a satisfied nod, she continued towards the exit. The flames she left behind should be more than capable to finish what she'd started.

When she'd climbed the stairs and was passing the operations table, Astrid came rushing out of her bedroom. In her hand, she held a pack that was brimming with what Lisara assumed were her belongings. As quietly as she could manage, Lisara dove under the table, narrowly missing Astrid as she hurried over to the map. With one sweep of her arm, the blonde brushed everything on the table into her bag, cursing when it was too full to shut all the way.

Lisara stared at Astrid's legs, praying to Sithis that she would move—and soon. She realized she could hear her own breaths, and clapped her hand over her mouth. For a brief, tense moment, Astrid paused, seemingly listening for something. A beat passed, before she hurried down the steps, shouting at the Brotherhood to move out. Now that the immediate risk was gone, Lisara scurried out from under the table and ran across the room.

Hoping that Astrid hadn't heard her footsteps, she dashed up the stairs. The enchanted doorway was heavy, made more so by the dense stone that it was made of. Fueled by adrenaline, Lisara shoved it open as quietly as she could manage. Once she was safely outside, she closed the door again, hoping it would mitigate suspicion.

Once the door grated shut, she sprinted up the curving path. Instead of continuing up the way and to the top of the hill, she dove into the underbrush where she and Vilkas had been staking out the entrance before. As they'd agreed upon, he was waiting for her where she'd left him, still crouched, ready to spring like the predator he still was.

"Are you all right, lass?" he asked in a low, rushed whisper as he cradled her face in his hands.

Gently, she laid her hand over his, leaning into his palm. "I'm fine," she reassured him, still out of breath. "I did what I had to, and it sounded like they were getting ready to move. Our plan worked."

"Thank Talos." And then he was pressing his lips to hers, feeling every bit as desperate and harried as she had within the Sanctuary. In contrast, though she could feel the tension radiating off of him, his kiss was slow, languid—as if he wanted to savor the moment and thank every god above that she was escaped unseen.

When he pulled back, he traced her bottom lip with his gloved thumb. "Now we wait?"

Lisara nodded. "Now we wait."

They didn't have to wait long. Mere moments later, the Sanctuary door scraped open, and the members of the Dark Brotherhood came spilling out. Astrid led the way, looking more panicked than Lisara had ever seen her.

And she understood why.

Much like Lisara, Astrid had never had a happy childhood. While Lisara's father became abusive, and Elias abandoned her, Astrid had unwanted advances of her own. Both women had taken matters into their own hands. As such, a home was a foreign concept to them; a steady roof over their heads, warm food, and a warm bed, at the end of every night, was a luxury, not a right.

The Sanctuary had been that for them—both of them. And though Lisara knew the Falkreath location had to be destroyed in order to drive the family to Dawnstar, she still felt a sharp stab of pain at being the one to do so.

As a single, cohesive unit, the Brotherhood ran up the path and into the clearing above the Sanctuary. Briefly, Astrid spoke to the members before they all fanned out. It was likely she'd instructed them to split up and arrive at the Dawnstar Sanctuary separately. It made no sense to all travel together. They would make too easy a target for their enemies, and Astrid was nothing if not secretive. It was one of the reasons she served as their leader well.

Once they'd scattered to the wind, Lisara and Vilkas rose from their crouched positions. When he moved to leave their cover, Lisara planted a hand on his chest. "Hold on. I just want to make sure they're really gone before we come out of hiding."

For a brief moment, his face tensed. Still, he listened, rocking back on his heels as he kept his gaze trained on their surroundings. After a few more minutes passed, Lisara lowered her hand. With a single nod, that he returned, they headed around the bend towards their horses.

Silently, he untied their mounts, handing Shadowmere's reins to Lisara. The dark, brooding stallion was antsy, likely because he was so close to the sinister pool he'd spawned from. The Sanctuary was just as much his home as it had been hers, and she patted the side of his neck, murmuring soothing words. Once he settled, she quickly climbed up into the saddle.

Vilkas was already a few feet ahead, leading his mount in a circle as it paced. When he met her gaze, he jerked his head in the direction of Whiterun. His eyes held hers, and she knew he was asking silently whether she was ready to leave.

With one last, backward glance at the Sanctuary, smoke now curling around the edges of the stone door, she looked back at Vilkas with her jaw firmly clenched. A single, short nod was all she could muster, and though his gaze lingered on her face for a moment, he eventually tugged the reins of his horse, pointing the mount towards Whiterun.

"Hyah!" he shouted, and Lisara flicked Shadowmere's reins, racing after him in the direction of the place she now called home.

* * *

They rode fast, and hard, and as the sun slipped below the horizon, they finally skidded to a halt just outside the stables. Because of the hour, it was rather quiet, and there weren't many people milling about after dark—especially not this far out of the city. After they dismounted, and with nothing more than an appreciative pat on the stable boy's shoulder from Vilkas, they headed up the incline towards the city gates.

She was exhausted, both mentally and physically from the long ride, and it felt as if she could barely lift her feet to walk. As they passed through the gates, Vilkas paused to speak to one of the guards, nodding at a question the other man had asked. While she waited, Lisara wandered a few steps ahead. When her knees felt like they were about to give, she leaned against the wooden post just outside of the blacksmith's door, watching Vilkas as he conversed.

He gesticulated a bit before crossing his arms over his chest, and the intensity of his gaze seemed to spook the guard—though Lisara knew he wasn't angry, just focused. If he'd been angry, the set of his shoulders would've been far more tense, his muscles coiled to spring at a moment's notice. No, he was relaxed, pleased with a job well done, and a smile teased at the corner of her lips.

Eventually, Vilkas clasped the guard's upper arm before turning her way. When he spotted her lounging against the pillar, he shook his head with an amused smile.

"Comfortable, lass?" he asked as he moved to pass her.

With a groan, she pushed off the post and trailed after him. "Not really, but I didn't want to interrupt."

He shrugged. "Not terribly important. Wulf was just giving me an update on today's activities."

Instead of a verbal response, she hummed. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, before facing forward again. Without another word, he held out his arm for her. Grateful, she curled her arm around his, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. Though the cold press of his armor against her skin wasn't entirely comfortable, she was too exhausted to complain.

Together, they made their way to Jorrvaskr. Though they weren't speaking, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It hadn't been for . . . longer than Lisara expected. The familiarity and ease of communication between them frightened her a bit, but not because of Vilkas himself.

It was a sign that she was learning to trust someone again, with everything she was, that made her the woman she was now. It meant that she was vulnerable, and she'd sworn that she'd never let herself be in that position again.

But as she looked up at him, following the sharp line of his jaw, the wild day-old scruff that littered his cheeks, and the slight downward curve of his lips, she found herself wondering: how could she  _not_ trust him? After everything they'd been through together, all he'd done for her, all she'd done for him—save initially meaning to end his life—how could she not give everything to this man?

How could she not love him?

A soft sigh left her as she looked forward again, resting her cheek on the cool metal of his armor once more.

Once they reached Jorrvaskr, he pulled out of her grasp and reached out to hold the door open for her. With a thankful smile, she breezed past him and into the warm, cozy mead hall. At their entrance, the members of the Companions looked up. Across the room, Aela and Farkas rose to their feet, walking over to meet them halfway.

"Well?" the huntress asked. "How did it go?"

Lisara crossed her arms over her chest. "The plan worked. They should be making their way to Dawnstar as we speak."

Farkas looked at her, and then at his twin. "When can we follow?"

At that, Vilkas met Lisara's gaze. A beat passed, before he said, "I'd give it a few days. Once they left their hiding hole, they separated—Lisara said it was likely to make them a less easy target, and so they'll arrive in Dawnstar at different times, I assume. We don't want to get there too early."

When Aela and Farkas shifted their eyes to her, she offered a nod in agreement. Aela huffed, seemingly impatient but no more unhappy with Lisara than she usually was. "Fine. We'll finish some of our other contracts in the meantime. Let us know when you're ready to move, Harbinger."

Vilkas nodded, and Aela moved to rejoin her comrades. Farkas gently placed his hand on Vilkas' shoulder, and though they didn't say anything to each other, they held each other's gaze for a few moments. Lisara watched them for a bit, marveling at how similar the twins' method of communication seemed to hers and Vilkas' own. Again, a brief flash of panic coursed through her at that knowledge.

What was done couldn't be undone, and she would never wish to retract what she'd shared with Vilkas. He'd known so much longer than she had, and it would be an insult to his feelings to take her words back. That, and she had no desire to. It was simply . . . something she had to get used to, knowing she cared so much about someone other than herself.

For so many years, that had been all she'd had.

When Vilkas shook his head and placed his hand over his brother's, Farkas finally dropped his arm with a nod. He, too, moved back towards the fire, joining Aela and the others at the long table in the center of the room.

It was then that Vilkas looked back at Lisara, holding out his hand in a silent invitation. With a smile, she laced her fingers through his. They made their way downstairs to his quarters, and as soon as they were inside, hidden away from the sounds of camaraderie upstairs, he shut the door behind them.

Methodically, they both stripped themselves of their armor, laying the pieces in neat piles that would be easily accessible tomorrow. After throwing a clean shift over her head, she turned towards Vilkas. He was already facing her, and she watched as his gaze roved over her body. Though the tiniest of flames simmered within her belly, she stepped forward and reached for his hands. Without complaint, he joined their hands, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

"Lass . . ." He trailed off, his voice quiet and deep. "How are you doing? Really?"

"I'm—" She paused, her eyes dropping to look at their intertwined fingers. "I'm all right."

Gently, he placed a single finger on the underside of her chin and tilted her head up. "Truly?"

"It's hard to explain," she whispered.

Just as tenderly as before, he led her towards the bed. Together, they sank down atop the furs, hands still clasped. "If you want to try," he said, squeezing her hand. "I am here to listen."

Lisara opened her mouth, before closing it a second later. Absentmindedly, she traced circles on Vilkas' skin, her gaze focused somewhere over his shoulder. After a few seconds had passed, she tried again.

"The concept of a home has always been . . . foreign to me," she began, her voice soft. "Though I grew up in a home, with a family, it was . . . different than I would've wished for. I loved my brother, and he loved me, but the strain that our father put on our relationship was unfair. Because of that, we both had to grow up so much faster than other children—something I know you and Farkas are entirely familiar with."

Again, he squeezed her hand, but didn't say anything. After taking a deep breath, she continued. "When my brother left, our home became something else entirely. It grew darker, more dangerous, and every time I walked through the door, I felt . . . fear, dread, and  _hate_. As my father's violence grew and grew, so too did the hate I felt for him. When I finally—" She stopped, looking away from Vilkas. "When I finally killed him, I felt as if this massive weight on my shoulders was lifted, only to be replaced by another one."

When she met his gaze again, she said, "I couldn't live on my own, a young girl of fourteen. The townsfolk would've never allowed it, and I had no wish to be sent to an orphanage. I refused. And so, I took matters into my own hands and joined the Dark Brotherhood.

"I went from one home that had never truly been a home, to another that felt entirely the same. Though my new 'family' had been welcoming, I knew the truth for what it was: we weren't a family, not really. We were simply people doing the same dark things to survive, and finding some sort of comfort in it—in each other.

"Then, I left them and came to  _you_. From a second family that wasn't really a family, to a third—or so I initially thought."

Vilkas pulled one of his hands out of hers and reached up, tracing her cheekbone with the soft pad of his thumb. "What changed your mind?"

She smiled, leaning into his touch. "You did. You and Farkas, you and Aela . . . I see the way everyone bands together, the way you all want to make sure that every single Companion makes it out alive; I saw how much Skjor's death broke Aela, how much she cared for him, and how much her pain affected you and Farkas; I saw you—" She, too, reached up to cradle his face in hers. The rough scrape of his facial hair against her palm was grounding. "—grieving for Kodlak, and realized how much each and every one of you loved their shield-sibling—in a way I never thought possible without the existence of shared blood."

"And now what do you think?" he asked.

Her smile grew. "I think . . . that I'm beginning to think of everyone as more of a family than I ever intended."

For a brief moment, his expression mirrored hers. Then, his smile fell ever-so-slightly, and he lowered their hands to their laps once more. "And yet I sense that you are unhappy. Why?"

Now, her smile faltered as well. "It isn't exactly that I'm  _un_ happy, I just . . . I know why we had to destroy the Sanctuary. I was the one who suggested the plan, after all. And even though I'd never considered them a true 'family', I . . . I'd lived there, within those stone walls, for years. It never truly felt like home, no, but it was—" She paused, taking a deep breath as she tried to collect her harried thoughts into something coherent.

Vilkas squeezed her hand again. "It was still a home."

"In a sense, yes. It wasn't one that I ever became particularly attached to, but . . . it was  _a_ home to me."

"I'm sorry you had to do this, lass. I wish there'd been some other way."

"It didn't hurt for the reasons I'm sure you initially thought. I think it was more so that goodbyes are always sad, no matter their nature. Though it was necessary, and it didn't sting in the way it would have had I truly considered it a home, it was still closing a chapter of my life and though I don't regret it . . . it is still somewhat sad."

Vilkas nodded. "I can understand that, lass."

Lisara offered a tiny smile. "Thank you for caring enough to ask."

A dry chuckle left him. "I love you, I've told you that. I'd be an ass for not caring, wouldn't I?"

That earned him a laugh in return. "I suppose that is true." A beat passed between them, and she pulled away, scooting back on top of the bed. Once she was nearly against the wall, she slid her legs under the covers and beckoned for him to join her. When he lifted an eyebrow suggestively, she laughed again. "Not like that, I just . . . I just want you to hold me, if that's all right."

Vilkas' expression softened, and he crawled over the covers to lay beside her. Once he was settled under the covers as well, Lisara laid down, resting her cheek on the pillow so she could face him. "It will never be something I complain about, lass."

He looped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. After pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips, he rested his cheek against his own pillow. Gently, she reached up, threading her fingers through the chestnut strands of his hair.

"I love you," she whispered.

His pale, blue eyes bored into her own as he smiled; the corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly as he sighed. "And I you, Lisara."

In the quiet, peaceful night, she fell asleep in his arms, feeling safer than she had in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, it's been . . . a while, hasn't it? I have no excuses for how long this took to get out. In all honesty, I started this chapter shortly after posting the last one. Then the semester started, and though I expected my final year in college to be hectic, I don't think I quite anticipated how busy it would really be. The draft of the chapter sat, and sat, and soon enough, like four months had gone by. Feeling guilty, I opened up the doc and randomly added 200 words here, 200 words there, and suddenly, IT'S THE NEW YEAR. I just . . . I apologize profusely, and honestly, my readers are the absolute best for having never-ending patience and understanding. I love you all.
> 
> As such, I feel the need to be honest and candid with y'all. When I originally thought of this story, I had every intention to see it through to the end - without realizing exactly how much of a commitment that would be. The biggest inspiration for this story, OpalBee's Grohiiki, Kodaavi, ended at 84 chapters and upwards of 740k words. If I wrote through the entirety of the main storyline, with every little detail in between, I imagine this story would be much the same. Unfortunately, I just don't have that kind of writing stamina, and it isn't fair to all of you to drag this on for years at a time. So, because of that, I've made the (sad) decision to wrap things up in the next five chapters or so. To the best of my ability, I'm going to tie some loose story ends, and make the ending feel as complete as possible. Know that Lisara and Vilkas' adventures will continue on without the readers' ever-watchful eye, and I'm hoping the ending will portray that. It isn't what I wanted for the story from the get-go, but it's the best I can do right now, and I hope that you guys will understand and still enjoy the ending that comes about.
> 
> And as always, many thanks to StarryNight101 for beta-reading. It's been awhile, but know that I cherish each and every one of you! I look forward to hearing from everyone : 3


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